Ex  iCiltrts 


SEYMOUR  DURST 


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REV.  CORTLAND  MYERS. 


MIDNIGHT  IN  A 

GREAT  CITY 


CORTLAND  MYERS 

Pastor  of  t lie  Brooklyn  Temple 


NEW  YORK 

MERRILL  AND  BAKER 

Publishers 


Copyright,  1896, 

BY 

CORTLAND  MYERS. 


THE  MERSHON  COMPANY  PRESS, 
RAHWAY,  N.  J. 


I  place  the  fruit  of  the  brain  in  the  right  hand  of  her  whose 
left  hand  holds  the  love  of  the  heart. 

"  Take  them,  Love,  the  book  and  me  together  ; 
Where  the  heart  lies  let  the  brain  be  also." 

—The  Author. 


PREFACE. 


Many  days  and  many  nights  of  many  weeks 
were  given  by  the  author  to  the  investigation  of 
city  darkness.  Friends  and  missionaries  and 
officials  gave  their  needed  and  appreciated  aid, 
The  story  was  first  told  to  thousands  of  listeners 
in  the  Brooklyn  Temple.  Other  thousands 
crowded  about  the  doors,  unable  to  enter.  Their 
cry  and  its  accompanying  sound  from  many  parts 
of  this  land  were  heard  and  are  answered  by  this 
book.  No  literary  excellence  is  claimed,  only 
a  personal  knowledge  of  the  facts  and  a  Calvary 
purpose  to  save  the  city.  That  these  pages  be 
not  used  for  fuel,  but  their  facts  fire  the  souls  of 
men,  is  the  desire  of 

The  Author. 

Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,  Sept.  i,  i8g6. 

iii 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

PAGE 

I. 

The  Dark  Tenements, 

I 

II. 

The  Murder  of  the  Innocents,  . 

14 

III. 

The  Clouds  above  Rich  Homes, 

J  * 

IV. 

The  Center  of  Iniquity, 

53 

V. 

The  Hospital  Wards, 

.  76 

VI. 

The  Shadows  from  the  Footlights, 

94 

VII. 

The  Fogs  of  Ignorance, 

.  119 

VIII. 

The  Blackness  of  Impurity,  . 

137 

IX. 

The  Smoke  of  Factories,  . 

•  151 

X. 

The  Gloom  of  the  Prison  Cell,  . 

173 

XI. 

The  Piece  of  Lava  from  the  Volcano, 

•  197 

XII. 

The  American  "Joss,"  .... 

217 

XIII. 

The  Morning  Breaketh, 

•  239 

vii 


MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  DARK  TENEMENTS. 

The  King  of  Day  mounts  his  golden  throne  in 
the  world's  sky  and  swings  his  scepter  of  light 
and  warmth  above  the  dwellings  of  all  men;  but 
with  all  his  mighty  power,  the  selfishness  of 
humanity  is  mightier  in  its  rebellion,  and  forbids 
his  dominion  over  a  part  of  the  world.  His 
scepter  can  touch  the  lily  of  the  field,  and  com- 
mand the  garments  from  his  own  royal  wardrobe 
to  be  placed  upon  its  form  of  beauty  and  robe  it 
with  more  glory  than  that  of  Solomon  in  all  the 
splendor  of  his  royalty.  With  one  of  his  thou- 
sand hands  he  paints  the  bloom  upon  the  cheek 


2  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

of  the  luscious  fruit  and  pours  the  wine  into  the 
heart  of  the  purple  cluster;  the  emerald 
axminster  is  spread  out  upon  the  floor  of  earth's 
palace  by  his  servant.  It  was  his  hand  that 
dashed  the  mixture  of  color  against  the  western 
sky  and  made  the  indescribable  glory  of  a  sum- 
mer evening.  It  was  the  artist  from  his  studio 
who  sped  down  the  skies  with  pallet  in  hand 
and  arched  the  eastern  heavens  with  the  splendor 
of  the  rainbow,  reflecting  the  beauty  of  the  upper 
world.  The  silver  robes  of  the  Queen  of  Night 
are  bought  with  his  gold,  and  the  starry  worlds 
borrow  at  his  treasury.  Life  and  beauty  for  this 
planet  are  the  sacrifice  of  his  life.  It  is  insanity 
and  crime  to  shut  out  from  his  wonderful  power 
the  most  precious  life,  and  thus  to  banish  joy, 
health,  comfort,  and  heaven  from  the  habitation 
of  that  part  of  the  human  family  which,  by  virtue 
of  poverty,  lives  in  the  tenements  of  the  great 
cities. 

In  many  of  these  homes  the  sun  never  shines; 
in  most  of  them  it  rarely  ever  enters.  Flowers 
wither  and  die  in  a  cellar;  human  flowers  must 
pass  that  same  sad  way.  The  violet  in  the  fence 
corner  wears  a  purple  robe,  and  is  more  royal 
in  the  sight  of  our  present  civilization  than  that 


THE  DARK  TENEMENTS. 


3 


which  was  made  in  the  image  and  likeness  of 
God. 

"  When  wilt  thou  save  the  people, 

O  God  of  mercy,  when  ? 
The  people,  Lord,  the  people, 

Not  thrones  and  crowns,  but  men. 
Flowers  of  thy  heart,  O  God,  are  they ; 
Let  them  not  pass  like  weeds  away, 
Their  heritage  a  sunless  day, 

God  save  the  people  !  " 

That  prayer  must  reach  the  throne  before  the 
march  of  civilization  and  the  triumph  of  the 
Kingdom  of  God. 

The  superstructure  totters  because  of  the 
crumbling  foundation  stones  in  the  rotten  tene- 
ments at  the  bottom  of  society. 

Ordinary  tenement  houses  contain  five  stories 
and  a  basement;  four  families  usually  occupy 
one  floor.  The  halls  are  extremely  narrow,  and 
nearly  all  of  them  are  dark  even  in  the  brightest 
day.  The  visitor  is  obliged  to  move  with  hands 
extended  and  feel  his  way,  while  in  constant 
dread  of  a  collision  with  wood  or  humanity.  In 
some  of  the  hallways  there  is  no  method  of 
securing  air  or  light  except  where  a  faint  glim- 
mer comes  from  a  narrow  skylight  or  a  transom. 


4  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

In  the  older  houses  the  sink  is  found  in  the  hall, 
and  all  the  families  must  draw  and  pour  water  in 
the  same  place,  where  the  filth  and  menace  to 
health  are  beyond  description.  In  these  older 
tenements  there  are  attic  rooms;  cold  in  winter 
and  sweltering  in  summer — rented  usually  to 
old  and  friendless  people  at  the  enormous  rent 
of  five  dollars  per  month  for  a  single  little  room. 
In  all  these  tenements  the  families  usually  occupy 
two  or  three  small  rooms,  paying  from  eight  to 
twelve  dollars  per  month;  and  dispossessment 
hangs,  like  a  thunder  cloud  lurid  with  lightning, 
above  their  heads.  If  they  are  without  food,  the 
rent  must  be  paid.  If  they  are  without  clothes, 
the  rent  must  first  be  provided.  The  most  at- 
tractive thing  to  be  said  about  heaven,  for  them, 
is  that  there  will  be  no  rent  collected  there. 

The  sight  which  they  dread  most,  and  which 
composes  one  of  the  saddest  pictures  on  earth, 
is  that  of  their  few  articles  of  furniture  on  the 
street  in  front  of  the  tenement.  From  one  tene- 
ment in  this  city  twenty-eight  families  were 
evicted  in  one  winter's  day;  some  of  their  poor 
furniture  was  thrown  from  the  fifth-story  win- 
dow. I  saw  a  picture  which  made  my  heart 
ache.    A  mother  sat  in  the  center  of  the  wrorn 


THE  DARK  TENEMENTS. 


5 


household  articles,  a  baby  on  her  bosom  and 
three  other  children  at  her  knee;  and  the  winds 
of  a  cold  world  sported  with  their  rags  and 
mocked  their  shivering. 

There  are  about  40,000  tenements  in  New 
York  city  alone,  housing  nearly  200,000  children 
under  five  years  of  age.  As  many  as  100  of 
these  children  have  been  found  in  a  single  small 
tenement.  The  most  crowded  place  on  this  en- 
tire planet  is  in  New  York  city.  The  average 
population  per  square  mile  in  this  district  is  more 
than  250,000,  while  the  most  thickly  populated 
district  of  Old  London  has  only  175,000. 

There  are  100,000  people  living  in  rear  tene- 
ments. You  pass  through  a  hole  in  the  wall 
and  along  a  narrow,  dark  alley  until  you  emerge 
into  a  small  court  of  but  a  few  feet  square,  and 
there  find  yourself  completely  surrounded  by 
five,  six,  or  seven  stories  of  tumble-down  build- 
ings, just  swarming  with  humanity  and  foul 
with  dirt,  disease,  and  death.  Here  the  mor- 
tality is  astounding — at  least  one-third  greater 
than  even  in  the  lowest  part  of  London.  A 
great  physician  has  recently  said,  if  we  could  see 
the  air  breathed  in  these  places  by  their  occu- 
pants, it  would  show  itself  to  be  more  fetid  than 


6  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

the  mud  of  the  gutters.  Oh,  what  a  pitiful 
mockery  to  call  such  places  home!  The  devil 
planned  them  and  his  agents  built  them,  and 
God's  sunlight  never  shines  in  them.  In  the 
winter  they  do  not  furnish  a  barrier  to  the  cold, 
and  in  the  summer  heat  they  are  positively  un- 
bearable. The  tired  people  find  their  beds  on 
stone  walks  and  roofs,  in  alleys  and  foul  courts 
and  empty  wagons.  The  sun  never  shines  in 
three-quarters  of  the  bedrooms  in  New  York 
city.  Many  of  these  rookeries  are  ratholes  and 
homes  for  vermin.  Cockroaches  may  delight  in 
them,  but  no  one  made  in  God's  image  can  long 
endure  them.  The  death  rate  is  just  in  propor- 
tion to  this  kind  of  tenements;  and  from  these 
doorways  is  constantly  swinging  the  soiled 
white  crape  to  tell  of  another  death  at  the  hands 
of  the  murderer  Selfishness. 

I  have  climbed  five  stories  like  a  steam  craft 
in  a  fog,  feeling  my  way  through  the  dark  hall  of 
a  back-yard  tenement,  and  entered  a  space 
eight  feet  by  twelve,  with  a  dark  closet  in  the 
rear  and  a  little  light  and  no  sun  in  the  front,  and 
found  a  father  and  mother  with  six  children. 
This  was  their  home.  What  a  lie  given  to  the 
sweet  name,  and  what  a  disgrace  to  our  civiliza- 


THE  DARK  TENEMENTS. 


7 


tion!  No  carpet,  r"~  paper,  scarcely  any  plas- 
tering, a  few  pieces  of  old  and  broken  furniture, 
one  small  bed  for  eight,  poverty  written  every- 
where, and  starvation  stamped  upon  every  coun- 
tenance. This  sad  scene  was  not  made  by 
themselves,  but  by  sickness  and  misfortune. 
Could  human  eye  witness  it  without  a  tear? 
Could  human  heart  think  upon  it  without  a  pro- 
test? Could  Christian  civilization  continue  to 
endure  it?  The  spring  of  their  tears  may  be  un- 
noticed, but  it  may  cause  a  stream  which  will 
make  a  disastrous  flood  when  the  levees  of 
another  Mississippi  break. 

I  came  down  from  that  garret  to  the  cellar, 
and  partially  under  ground,  where  a  ray  of 
sunlight  never  found  its  way,  in  a  space  of  only 
a  few  feet  square,  as  damp  as  the  river's  bank  in 
a  foggy  night,  I  stood  to  comfort  a  blind  man 
and  his  wife,  both  Christian  people,  without  a 
friend  on  earth.  They  had  come,  by  misfortune, 
from  one  of  the  largest  homes  in  New  York 
State  down  to  one  of  the  foulest  cellars  in  the 
world.  In  that  alley  they  had  lived  fifteen 
years,  and  been  forced  from  the  best  room,  by 
their  increasing  poverty,  down  to  the  cellar. 
She  was  sick  and  he  was  blind,  but  in  their 


8  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

struggle  they  were  paying  their  five  dollars  a 
month  rent  and  starving  when  they  could  not 
earn  more. 

In  the  center  of  all  unworthiness  there  are 
thousands  of  the  world's  worthy  poor  suffering 
and  dying.  Through  these  tenements  stalks 
poverty  doing  its  deadly  work,  and  crime  carry- 
ing ruin  to  hundreds,  and  disease  giving  death 
to  thousands.  The  penalty  of  injustice  must 
reach  the  entire  city  by  countless  channels.  It 
moves  into  the  very  homes  of  the  rich.  If  the 
washerwoman  carries  clothes  into  the  back-yard 
tenement,  she  wraps  disease  into  her  bundle 
when  it  returns.  The  connection  between  one 
part  of  society  and  the  other  has  never  been 
severed  and  never  can  be.  In  it  is  greatest 
peril,  and  as  the  tenement-house  population  and 
tenement-house  evil  increase,  the  peril  grows  in 
precisely  the  same  ratio. 

A  certain  duke  who  recently  married  an 
American  heiress  has  made  the  announcement 
that  the  immense  cost  of  the  extensive  improve- 
ments that  have  been  made  on  his  castle  has  been 
paid  out  of  his  own  pocket.  I  make  the  an- 
nouncement that,  unless  the  hands  of  the  rich  go 
down  into  their  pockets  for  the  improvement  of 


THE  DARK  TENEMENTS. 


9 


the  dwellings  of  the  poor,  the  castles  of  the  rich 
must  crumble.  In  a  New  York  paper  recently  I 
read  the  account  of  one  of  the  richest  American 
girls  spending  her  millions;  some  of  it  for  dogs, 
some  of  it  for  horses,  some  of  it  for  carriages, 
some  of  it  for  four  or  five  different  palaces,  and 
nearly  all  of  it  was  thrown  upon  the  altar  of  the 
heathen  god  Self.  In  that  same  paper  I  read 
the  account  of  175  cases  of  eviction  on  the 
coldest  winter  day  with  the  thermometer  at 
zero — and  this  in  one  single  court  of  the 
city.  Mothers  with  starving  and  crying  chil- 
dren were  pleading  for  mercy,  not  knowing 
where  to  lay  their  heads,  while  one  of  their 
sisters  did  not  know  how  to  lay  her  head  in 
so  many  palaces  at  once.  Above  the  courts  of 
earth  and  above  the  tenements  and  above  the 
palace  stands  the  judgment  throne  of  God. 

Dives  and  Lazarus  are  together  again.  Laza- 
rus lies  in  the  cheerless  tenements,  full  of  sores 
and  hungry.  What  is  the  only  salvation  for 
Dives? 

In  a  rear  tenement  I  talked  with  an  old  lady, 
intelligent  and  Christian.  Her  husband  was 
crippled  and  able  to  work  only  a  part  of  the  time. 
They  paid  their  rent  and  lived  on  tea,  with 


io  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


crackers  or  bread.  For  many  years  that  had 
been  their  food,  and  sometimes  they  could  not 
get  even  that.  She  had  just  been  given  a  piece 
of  cake,  but  was  unable  to  eat  it,  because  she  was 
unaccustomed  to  it  and  her  digestion  would  not 
bear  it.  I  thought  of  Yanderbilt,  who  is  highly 
pleased  when  he  can  take  a  bit  of  graham  cracker 
and  a  sip  of  malted  milk  without  suffering  the 
agonies  of  dyspepsia.  The  old  lady  had  found 
her  highest  happiness  that  day  because  they  had 
expected  to  be  thrown  into  the  street,  but  they 
had  gathered  together  the  last  farthing  of  the 
month's  rent  and  it  was  in  the  landlord's  hand; 
the  hand  that  takes  oftentimes  from  fifteen  to 
thirty  per  cent,  interest  on  his  tenement-house 
investment.  A  church  corporation  and  a  pri- 
vate individual  alike  find  here  the  best  place  to 
draw  with  greedy  clutch  the  proceeds  from  their 
money,  and  that  money  is  oftentimes  crimson 
with  human  blood. 

I  recognize  the  responsibility  which  rests  upon 
many  of  the  tenants  themselves,  for  their  sad 
circumstances.  My  eyes  are  not  blind  to  the  ex- 
istence of  the  largest  number  of  saloons  in  these 
very  districts.  I  have  heard  the  blasphemy  and 
impurity  from  the  lips  of  drunken  men  and 


THE  DARK  TENEMENTS. 


1 1 


women  sounding  through  alley  and  court,  hall 
and  room  of  the  tenement  house,  but  with  all 
this  knowledge  I  have  other  knowledge  which 
makes  my  heart  sad  and  to  overflow  with 
purest  sympathy.  In  the  back-yard  tenement, 
in  a  garret  room,  with  a  bed  that  occupied  nearly 
half  the  space,  with  one  narrow  window  which 
the  sun  never  touched,  with  not  a  thread  of  car- 
pet, without  wall  paper,  with  scarcely  any  plas- 
ter, with  a  small  broken  stove,  with  one  or  two 
crippled  chairs,  with  only  an  old  mattress  on  the 
bed,  with  no  sheets  or  covering  except  a  tattered 
overcoat,  here  lay  a  Christian  man,  dying  of  con- 
sumption. For  two  years  he  had  waited  for 
death.  In  that  same  room,  night  and  day,  lived 
his  wife  and  three  children.  She  earned  and 
paid  the  rent  by  scrubbing  saloons  at  night. 
They  were  worthy  of  some  of  earth's  best,  but 
they  received  the  very  poorest.  It  was  not  the 
pay  of  the  earth — it  came  through  the  com- 
merce of  hell. 

One  of  the  greatest  difficulties  in  the  way  of 
destroying  this  tenement-house  disgrace  and  evil 
is  ignorance.  Let  the  light  of  day  shine  in  upon 
this  and  every  other  evil  that  prefers  darkness  to 
daylight.    The  agents  and  owners  must  have 


12  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


human  eyes  fastened  upon  them  before  their 
selfishness  can  be  checked.  Boards  of  health 
have  done  something,  but  they  must  do  vastly 
more.  The  officials  must  be  backed  up  by  pub- 
lic sentiment,  and  be  made  to  stamp  out  these 
diseased  and  crime-breeding  places.  The  Gos- 
pel of  the  Son  of  God  must  have  more  power 
over  the  wealth  of  the  city.  The  money  of  New 
York  is  made  downtown,  but  is  enjoyed  and 
squandered  by  the  aristocrats  uptown. 

There  must  be  more  study  given  to  this  prob- 
lem by  philanthropists  and  social  scientists.  We 
must  come  to  understand  the  folly  of  attempting 
to  save  men  and  women  who  live  in  darkness 
and  dampness  and  foulness  and  are  herded  to- 
gether like  animals.  The  physical  man  bears  a 
vital  relation  to  the  moral  man.  We  must  have 
the  courage  to  keep  the  churches  and  the  schools 
in  the  needy  sections.  They  must  not  continue 
to  move  out  and  the  saloons  to  move  in.  The 
law  must  demand  better  buildings,  and  the  greed 
of  the  landlords  be  checked.  Men  must  be  made 
to  see  their  relation  to  their  fellow-man,  and 
also  the  possibility  of  good  returns  from  good 
houses.  All  good  men  and  women  should  co- 
operate for  the  destruction  of  this  abomination 


THE  DARK  TENEMENTS. 


and  the  alleviation  of  the  suffering  of  this  large 
part  of  humanity.  Social  regeneration  depends 
in  a  great  measure  upon  the  banishment  of  this 
darkness  and  the  entrance  of  the  light  of  Chris- 
tian civilization. 

The  Earl  of  Shaftesbury, 

"  That  friend  of  all  the  friendless  'neath  the  sun, 
Whose  hand  had  wiped  away  a  thousand  tears  ; 
Whose  eloquent  lips  and  clear,  strong  brain  had  done 
God's  holy  service  through  his  fourscore  years," 

when  near  his  end,  with  tears  of  love  upon  his 
cheeks,  and  with  the  spirit  of  the  Christ  in  his 
heart,  said,  "  When  I  feel  how  old  I  am,  and 
know  that  I  must  soon  die,  I  hope  it  is  not 
wrong,  but  I  feel  I  cannot  bear  to  go  and  leave 
the  world  with  all  the  misery  in  it."  If  the 
spirit  of  the  noble  earl,  that  friend  of  the  poor, — 
which  was  the  spirit  of  Christ,  that  other  friend 
of  the  poor, — should  rule  in  every  heart,  how 
quickly  the  miserable  tenements  would  be  swept 
from  the  face  of  the  earth  ! 

Oh,  how  the  Saviour  of  men  must  rejoice  in 
his  work  of  making  the  mansions  in  heaven 
when  he  sees  these  homes  of  earth! 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE   MURDER  OF  THE  INNOCENTS. 

The  home  is  the  most  important  factor  in 
human  society,  and  the  cradle  is  the  most  impor- 
tant factor  in  the  home.  Its  rocking  sets  in 
motion  the  entire  social  world.  It  stands  at  the 
center  of  power,  even  in  the  Kingdom  of  God. 
"  The  hand  that  rocks  the  cradle  moves  the 
world,"  simply  because  of  the  recognition  of  the 
throne  in  the  manger.  Our  knowledge  has  not 
yet  taught  us  the  value  of  the  algebraic  quantity 
of  childhood  in  the  unsolved  problems  of  human 
society  neither  our  scientific  nor  philosophic 
education  has  yet  taught  the  necessity  of  going 
back  to  the  source,  if  we  would  purify  the 
stream.  We  must  recognize  the  royalty  there  is 
in  the  cradle  if  we  would  have  citizen  kings  and 
reveal  the  value  of  a  republican  form  of  govern- 
ment. Suffer  the  children,  if  you  would  ever 
establish  the  Kingdom  of  God  upon  earth.  Suf- 
14 


THE  MURDER  OF  THE  INNOCENTS.  15 

fer  the  children,  if  you  would  ever  glory  in  a 
republic.  Suffer  the  children,  if  you  would  ever 
have  a  better  city  and  a  better  nation  and  a  bet- 
ter world.  Suffer  them  to  come  out  of  their 
wretched  tenement  homes.  Suffer  them  to 
break  their  shackles  and  be  free.  Suffer  them  to 
breathe  pure  air  and  carry  pure  blood.  Suffer 
the  little  innocents  to  escape  the  foul  murderer's 
hand.  The  "  murder  of  the  innocents "  is 
effected  by  the  poison  of  heredity  and  environ- 
ment and  toil  and  neglect.  There  are  literally 
thousands  and  hundreds  of  thousands  of  chil- 
dren butchered  in  the  slaughtering  pens  of  the 
modern  social  world.  It  is  enough  to  make  all 
hell  resound  with  laughter,  when  we  stand  in 
the  very  center  of  such  a  tremendous  evil,  and  in 
our  inhumanity  say,  "  We  are  civilized."  The 
lower  world  must  echo  with  infernal  applause 
when,  in  our  stupidity  and  carelessness  and 
ignorance  and  barbarism,  we  say,  "  We  are 
Christian." 

"  And  while  we  range  with  science,  glorying  in  the  time, 
City  children  soak  and  blacken  soul  and  sense  in  city 
slime." 

I  have  seen  enough  to  bring  tears  from  a  heart 
of  stone,  in  the  alleys  and  in  the  back-yard 


1 6  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

courts;  in  the  narrow,  contracted,  filthy,  wretched 
tenement  hovels  where  the  god  of  gold  was  wor- 
shiped and  the  dearest  life  was  poured  out  on 
the  altars  of  heathen  sacrifices,  and  the  God  of 
Heaven  was  absolutely  forgotten.  The  un- 
worthiness  of  many  of  the  fathers  and  mothers 
in  these  tenement  homes  may  give  rise  to  just 
condemnation,  but  this  does  not  affect  the 
innocent  children.  O  God,  have  mercy  on 
them!  Whatever  be  said  about  their  parents, 
Heaven  pity  the  hundreds  and  thousands  of 
innocents  murdered  in  our  great  cities!  The 
law  of  heredity  is  the  saddest  law  stamped  upon 
this  universe.  But  the  larger  part  of  that  sad- 
ness is  impressed  indelibly  upon  the  neglected 
and  outcast  children  of  the  crowded  city.  If 
there  was  coursing  through  their  veins  other 
blood  than  that  which  is  coursing  through  them 
at  this  hour,  their  world  might  be  vastly  differ- 
ent and  their  eternity  a  heaven. 

I  have  stood  in  the  dingy,  dirty  tenement 
house  with  a  single  room  as  a  home,  with  one 
narrow  window  looking  out  upon  a  back-yard 
court;  this  the  home  of  eight  or  ten  people — 
father,  mother,  and  children;  and  I  have  looked 
over  into  the  cradle,  about  the  only  piece  of  fur- 


THE  MURDER  OF  THE  INNOCENTS.  17 

niture  in  the  room,  and  have  seen  a  six-months'- 
old  baby  weighing  only  two  pounds,  and  as  I 
looked  into  its  pinched  and  drawn  little  face  and 
form,  and  saw  its  bird-claw  fingers,  so  small  that 
I  could  not  detect  the  nails,  I  said  to  its  mother, 
"  Is  it  ill?  "  "  No,  not  that  I  know  of."  Then 
I  said  to  myself,  "  No,  not  ill,  but  starving;  liter- 
ally starving  and  neglected,  besides  being  born 
into  a  world  of  suffering  and  disease."  I  looked 
across  the  room  and  saw  the  mother,  crippled 
and  hobbling  on  two  crutches,  haggard  and 
worn,  and  literally  her  life  being  poured  out  on 
that  same  altar  of  sacrifice.  I  said  to  myself, 
"  No  wonder,  born  of  such  ancestry  and  living 
in  such  surroundings,  that  the  little  pinched 
form  has  only  six  months  to  live  upon  earth,  and 
shall  then  be  hurled  out  of  existence  almost  like 
an  atom  of  dust." 

I  have  been  in  a  narrow,  contracted,  back- 
yard tenement,  in  a  room  fifteen  by  twelve  feet, 
where  lived  father  and  mother  and  several  chil- 
dren. I  have  there  seen  three  or  four  children 
as  bright-faced  as  I  ever  saw  in  my  life,  even 
though  they  had  dirty  faces.  As  I  saw  the  curly- 
headed  boys  and  girls  together,  I  looked  over 
to  the  other  corner  of  the  room,  and  there  the 


1 8  MIDXIGIIT  IX  A  GREAT  CITY. 


father  was  slowly  passing  out  of  this  world,  lying 
in  wretchedness  and  misery.  The  mother's 
blood  was  saturated  with  the  results  of  a  life  of 
sin,  and  I  said,  as  I  turned  toward  heaven,  "  O 
God,  if  the  world  does  not  pity,  do  not  forget 
these  dear  children!" 

In  that  kind  of  a  home,  with  that  kind  of 
blood  coursing  through  their  veins,  what  must 
be  the  result?  For  weeks  and  months  never 
out  of  that  low  and  narrow  prison,  and  breath- 
ing that  tainted  atmosphere  and  carrying  that 
foulest  blood,  what  must  be  the  result?  If  the 
blood  which  is  coursing  through  the  veins  of 
tens  of  thousands  of  the  little  ones  of  these  cities 
could  be  seen,  what  would  be  its  condition?  It 
would  be  as  infectious  as  that  stream  which  the 
sewers  carry.  Born  in  innocence,  yet  born  to 
disease  and  death.    What  a  heritage! 

A  Philadelphia  surgeon  recently  had  a  curious 
experience.  A  lady  brought  her  child  to  his 
office  and  asked  him  if  he  could  get  an  orange 
seed  out  of  the  child's  throat.  He  found  that 
the  seed  had  lodged  in  the  windpipe  and  could 
not  be  reached.  He  thought  that  it  would  come 
out  naturally,  and,  as  it  would  cause  no  incon- 
venience, would  do  no  harm  to  remain  a  day  or 


THE  MURDER  OF  THE  INNOCENTS.  19 


two.  Some  time  afterward  he  was  called  to  see 
the  child,  who  was  found  to  be  suffocating. 
Tracheotomy  alone  could  save  the  child's  life. 
An  incision  was  made  in  the  windpipe,  and  the 
orange  seed  was  found  imbedded  in  a  mass  of 
white  pulp.  When  the  seed  was  examined,  it 
was  found  that  the  heat  of  the  child's  body  had 
caused  it  to  burst  and  sprout,  and  an  orange  tree 
was  growing  in  the  child's  throat.  So  the  seed 
of  a  drunkard's  habit  is  planted  in  the  throat  of 
the  child,  and  the  deadly  upas  tree  sprouts  and 
grows  until  the  victim  is  strangled  to  death. 
The  Juke  family  in  seventy-five  years  had  twelve 
hundred  descendants,  the  large  majority  of 
whom  were  idiots,  imbeciles,  maniacs,  drunk- 
ards, paupers,  prostitutes,  and  criminals.  Fifty- 
eight  out  of  every  hundred  of  the  Juke  women 
were  vicious.  In  seventy-five  years  the  actual 
cost  of  this  family  to  the  government  was 
$1,250,000.    Such  is  the  power  of  heredity. 

"  Life's  mystery  is  this  :  what  parents  do 
Is  mirrored  in  their  children  ;  changeless  laws 
Proclaim  that  neither  intercession,  prayer, 
Nor  yet  repentance,  can  atone  for  deeds 
By  parents  done,  transgression  of  the  flesh. 
'Tis  sins  like  these  will  cheat  mankind  of  half 
His  heritage  ;  take  from  his  nerves  the  steel, 
His  bones  the  marrow,  rob  his  brain  of  strength." 


so  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


I  have  looked  over  into  the  cradle  at  the 
little  face  of  a  beautiful  child,  and  I  turned  back 
with  the  sighing'  of  a  sad  heart  and  said,  "  born 
intoxicated,"  because  I  saw  the  demon  drink 
clutching  maternity  by  the  throat  and  killing  it, 
while  the  helpless  babe  was  moaning  and  groan- 
ing out  its  short  life. 

A  murderer  who  was  hanged  recently  in  this 
country,  the  day  before  his  execution  said,  "  I 
am  dreadfully  sorry  for  my  position  and  my 
crime,  but  am  I  to  tJame?  When  I  was  less 
than  four  years  old  my  mother  poured  whisky 
down  my  throat,  just  to  see  how  I  would  act. 
Am  I  to  blame?  " 

Suppose,  my  reader,  you  had  been  born  in 
New  York  city,  in  a  back-yard  tenement,  seven 
stories  from  the  ground  in  a  single  room,  where 
the  sun  never  shines;  without  any  bedding,  with 
only  a  broken  table  and  stove  and  stool  in  the 
room.  Born  into  such  a  world  as  that,  where 
would  you  be?  Heaven  only  knows.  The 
pathway  from  that  garret  hovel  leads  directly  to 
the  jail  and  the  dens  of  vice.  Where  would  you 
be?  A  certain  missionary  in  New  York  tells  us 
he  discovered  four  families  living  in  a  single 
large  room,  one  in  each  corner,  and  they  got 


THE  MURDER  OF  THE  INNOCENTS.  21 


along  very  well  until  one  family  took  in  a  boarder 
and  made  trouble.  Suppose  children  were  born 
into  such  a  home  as  that,  what  must  inevitably 
be  the  result?  Kicked  and  snubbed  and  pushed 
down  and  starved,  they  would  be  forced  out  to  a 
life  of  sin  and  crime.  That  little  form  came  into 
the  world  with  all  its  tenderness  and  beauty. 
How  vast  the  contrast  now,  with  its  hands 
pinched  and  body  withered  and  starving;  the 
eyes  either  bulging  from  their  sockets,  or  falling 
back  into  them;  a  life  eaten  up  with  filth  and 
fever.  To  be  born  into  such  a  world  is  almost 
always  death,  or  disease,  or  crime. 

In  New  York  city  out  of  a  single  tenement 
house  of  470  tenants,  in  four  years  there  were 
125  arrests.  There  are  75,000  or  100,000  chil- 
dren in  New  York  city  alone,  worse  than 
homeless,  and  godless  and  friendless.  Out  of 
that  100,000  children  come  seventy-five  per  cent, 
of  the  criminals  of  New  York  city.  They  are 
educated  in  crime,  educated  in  vice,  and  literally 
compelled  to  lead  a  vicious  life.  There  were  in 
New  York  city  alone  in  a  score  of  years  25,000 
little  babes  abandoned  on  the  streets — nearly 
1300  a  year  deserted  on  the  streets — wrapped  in 
rags  or  newspapers.    The  great  Foundling  Hos- 


2  2  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

pital  was  started  with  a  crib  in  front  of  its  doors, 
but  now  it  has  been  taken  into  the  hall,  because 
it  was  always  filled  on  the  outside.  Maternity — 
that  most  sacred  thing  in  all  the  human  family — 
maternity  is  smothered  by  the  tenement-house 
life  and  by  poverty. 

The  infinitely  most  fiendish  method  of  child- 
murder  is  the  pretense  of  adoption,  which  is  the 
taking  of  children  and  literally  starving  them  to 
death  for  a  small  amount  of  cold  cash.  It  is 
called  the  farming  process.  And  the  diabolical 
business  is  progressing  just  the  same  as  if  it  were 
within  the  borders  of  hell  itself.  Insurance 
upon  the  lives  of  little  children  has  been  com- 
pelled to  receive  a  check  from  the  insurance 
companies  themselves.  Was  there  ever  such  a 
statement  made  to  tell  us  of  the  barbarism  of 
human  society  as  that? 

This  "  murder  of  the  innocents  "  is  making 
still  further  progress  by  virtue  of  early  toil. 
Hundreds  and  thousands  are  in  the  homes,  fac- 
tories, and  sweat  shops,  some  of  them  as  young 
as  four  years  of  age,  sewing  buttons  on  garments 
for  a  small  pittance,  to  help  save  the  rest  of  the 
family  from  starvation.  These  little  innocents, 
with  their  worn,  haggard,  and  old  faces,  that 


THE  MURDER  OF  THE  INNOCENTS.  23 


ought  to  be  beaming  with  smiles  because  privi- 
leged to  play,  are  bound  down  to  toil  from  morn- 
ing until  night — veritable  white  slaves.  Hun- 
dreds and  thousands  of  little  fingers  work  over 
tobacco  leaves;  stripping  tobacco  and  making  it 
ready  for  gentlemen's  lips.  They  do  this  in  the 
very  center  of  the  dirtiest  and  filthiest  places  on 
earth;  tobacco  on  the  floor,  tobacco  everywhere, 
gathering  into  itself  the  germs  of  disease  and 
filth  which  make  it  anything  but  sweet  and  any- 
thing but  healthful.  The  very  disease  that  may 
take  you  out  of  this  world  may  be  the  direct 
result  of  the  tenement-house  life  and  the  unjust 
burdens  of  childhood.  The  slavery  has  not  all 
been  banished  from  American  soil  while  chil- 
dren are  under  the  lash. 

A  girl  of  less  than  fifteen  years  and  very  small 
for  her  age  appeared  before  the  authorities,  just 
recently,  and  asked  them  to  please  take  care  of 
her  brother  Willie,  ten  years  of  age.  "  Why, 
what  is  the  matter  with  him?"  "Mother  is 
dead,  and  I  have  ten  brothers  and  sisters,  and 
they  are  all  younger  than  I  am.  Father  goes 
away  before  daylight  in  the  morning  and  gets 
back  very  late  at  night.  I  have  to  take  care  of 
the  children.    I  am  getting  along  very  well  with 


24  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

all  the  children  except  Willie;  he  is  such  a 
bother."  Poor  little  housewife;  poor  little  crea- 
ture! Into  the  streets  of  a  dreary  world  a  little 
girl  comes  out  of  a  home  where  father  is  in  bed 
sick,  and  mother  is  sick,  and  eight  children  to 
be  supported,  and  one  of  these  children  earning 
two  dollars  a  week.  She  begs — she  is  forced  to 
beg;  she  is  arrested  for  begging.  The  walls  of 
the  courtroom  echo  with  her  sobs;  the  cold 
world  rolls  on  like  an  iceberg.  Oh,  how  those 
suffering  children  are  borne  down  by  the  fearful 
burden  of  early  toil  until  they  are  carried  out  of 
a  single-room  tenement  in  a  box,  and  then 
carried  out  into  the  Potter's  Field!  Many  of 
these  poor  parents  have  the  tenderest  feeling 
toward  those  wTho  are  their  flesh  and  bone; 
they  love  them,  and  it  is  the  saddest  part  of  life, 
and  makes  life  unbearable,  when  the  children 
suffer  and  cry,  the  response  from  the  parents  is 
always,  i(  Xot  for  myself,  but  for  the  clear  little 
ones." 

The  hundreds  of  toiling  newsboys  are  driven 
out  and  kicked  about  on  the  streets  of  the  city. 
They  are  pushed  out  of  these  tenement  homes  to 
shift  for  themselves,  when  they  ought  to  be  sleep- 
ing in  quiet  and  respectable  homes  in  a  bed, 


THE  MURDER  OF  THE  INNOCENTS.  25 


where  they  could  get  proper  rest,  and  in  the 
morning  rise  refreshed  for  school  and  receive 
their  education.  Instead  of  this  they  are  sleep- 
ing in  wagons,  sleeping  in  cellars,  and  sleeping 
anywhere  they  may,  in  a  poorer  place  than  a 
large  part  of  the  animal  world;  and  sleeping  in 
these  ragged  forms  are  some  of  the  greatest  pos- 
sibilities of  humankind.  I  stood  at  the  end  of 
the  Bridge  in  New  York  city  some  time  ago 
and  wanted  a  New  York  Times  A  little  fellow 
came  up  to  me  and  said,  "  Can  I  sell  you  a  paper, 
sir?"  His  feet  were  bare  and  he  scarcely  had 
enough  upon  him  for  cover,  and  nothing  to  keep 
the  cold  out.  He  said  he  did  not  have  the 
Times,  but  he  would  get  it  for  me.  I  gave  him 
a  quarter  of  a  dollar.  A  friend  said,  "  You  will 
never  see  that  quarter  again."  I  said,  "  I  will 
see  that  again.  That  little  fellow  has  an  honest 
stamp  in  his  face;  I  am  going  to  wait  until  he 
comes.  He  will  surely  be  back."  I  had  hardly 
finished  the  sentence  when  he  came  rushing  up 
with  the  paper  and  handed  me  all  my  change  out 
of  a  cleaner  hand  than  many  a  one  in  Wall 
Street  or  on  the  Stock  Exchange. 

The  day  before  Christmas  I  stood  on  the  prin- 
cipal street  of  Brooklyn,  where  people  were 


2  6 


MIDNIGHT  IN  A   GREAT  CITY. 


pouring  by,  possessed  of  all  that  this  world 
could  give.  In  the  midst  of  all  this  throng  I 
saw  one  of  these  outcast  boys,  thinly  clad  and 
shivering  in  the  cold.  I  saw  him  go  up  to  a 
barrel  and  pull  out  the  chief  bone  of  somebody's 
gobbler,  and  lick  it  with  more  relish  than  a  hun- 
gry dog  ever  ate  a  bone.  I  said,  "  Heaven 
have  mercy  on  the  boy  who  has  taken  the  last 
remnants  of  that  which  has  given  dyspepsia  to  a 
whole  family,  and  thus  gets  his  Christmas  dinner 
from  the  garbage  barrel."  And  then  I  saw,  com- 
ing up  the  same  street,  female  butterflies  with 
dogs  fastened  to  a  chain,  and  male  grasshoppers 
with  dogs  fastened  to  a  cane,  absolutely  regard- 
less of  the  great  needs  that  existed  right  at  their 
very  sides,  when  someone  made  in  the  image 
and  likeness  of  the  same  God  was  taking  his 
food  from  the  refuse  of  a  selfish  world. 

These  burdened,  down-trodden  children  of 
heredity,  environment,  and  toil  are  also  turned 
from  the  fountains  of  success  by  virtue  of  neg- 
lect— neglected  in  the  alleys,  neglected  in  the 
streets,  neglected  everywhere.  When  one  of 
the  newsboys  at  the  Brooklyn  Bridge  entrance 
tumbled  down  in  a  fit,  a  policeman  picked  him 
up  and  carried  him  to  the  waiting  room  and  tele- 


THE  MURDER  OF  THE  INNOCENTS.  27 


phoned  for  an  ambulance.  Before  the  ambu- 
lance came  he  was  out  again  at  his  toil. 
Someone  asked  a  woman,  who  was  selling 
papers,  who  that  little  fellow  was.  She  said,  "  It 
was  little  Maher."  "  And  does  no  one  care  for 
him?"  said  he.  "Nobody  cares  for  him,  sir, 
nobody  but  God;  and  he  is  too  busy  with  other 
people  to  pay  much  attention  to  him."  This  is 
just  the  situation  of  hundreds  and  thousands 
entirely  neglected  by  the  world;  the  only  atten- 
tion paid  them  is  that  which  comes  from  heaven. 

The  Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty 
to  Children  in  New  York  city  has  taken  up 
already  in  its  history  150,000  of  these  cases, 
and  the  Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty 
to  Children  in  Brooklyn  has  in  the  last  six- 
teen years  taken  16,000  of  these  cases  out  of 
the  streets.  I  have  seen  in  that  society's 
office  a  long  line  of  implements  used  by 
drunken  parents,  by  brutal  parents,  by  inhuman 
parents,  by  guardians,  and  by  people  who  have 
no  relation  to  the  children  at  all,  to  destroy 
child-life.  I  have  seen  the  club  and  the  ax  and 
the  kettles  and  the  stones  and  all  sorts  of  bar- 
barous means,  as  inhuman  and  as  brutal  as  any- 
thing that  has  ever  been  used  in  Central  Africa. 


28 


MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


I  have  seen  records  of  where  they  have  beaten 
the  children,  crippled  their  little  forms  for  life, — 
and  in  some  instances  have  taken  their  lives, — 
and  much  of  such  treatment  remains  unhindered 
in  the  center  of  our  civilization.  In  this  city  of 
Brooklyn  there  is  not  one  single  room,  ten  feet 
square,  where  a  boy  under  twelve  years  of  age 
found  in  the  streets  can  be  placed,  except  in 
Raymond  Street  jail.  They  are  there  now  for 
no  crime,  mingling  with  criminals,  being  edu- 
cated to  become  chief  criminals  themselves. 
Every  outcast  boy  picked  up  in  the  streets  is 
placed  in  jail.  We  need  to  rise  up  with  all  the 
power  that  God  has  given  us  to  demand  better 
provisions  and  demand  more  of  the  spirit  of  the 
sacrificial  Gospel  of  the  Son  of  God  to  take 
possession  of  the  world,  and  this  "  murder  of 
the  innocents  "  be  made  to  cease.  "  Am  I  my 
brother's  keeper?"  Yes!  His  blood  is  crying 
out  from  the  ground  against  me.  I  am  his 
keeper. 

Thomas  Hovenden,  the  great  American  artist, 
while  standing  at  a  railway  station,  saw  an 
engine  dashing  into  the  station.  He  saw,  just  in 
front  of  the  iron  horse,  some  mother's  darling 
little  child,  and  instantly,  without  a  moment's 


THE  MURDER  OF  THE  INNOCENTS.  29 


hesitation,  he  dropped  his  satchel  and  sprang  in 
front  of  the  engine.  He  snatched  the  little  dar- 
ling in  his  arms,  only  to  be  crushed  and  ground 
beneath  the  wheels  of  the  conscienceless  mon- 
ster. Thomas  Hovenden  never  made  a  more 
wonderful  picture  in  his  life.  His  paintings 
were  seen  at  the  World's  Fair.  This  one  will  be 
admired  in  heaven — a  picture  worthy  to  hang 
in  the  palace  of  God :  magnificent  heroism,  God- 
like self-abandon,  to  save  a  child!  The  old  iron 
horse  of  selfishness  comes  down  the  tracks  of 
our  civilization,  and  behind  it  roll  the  cars  of 
carelessness  and  oppression  and  ignorance  and 
inhumanity  at  a  terrific  rate  of  speed.  Children 
by  the  thousand  are  on  the  track.  God  give  us 
heroism  to  do  our  best  for  their  rescue  and  their 
salvation!  One  of  the  first  things  the  Christ 
would  do,  if  He  came  down  to  these  cities  now, 
would  be  to  take  the  poorest  children  from  the 
tenements  in  His  arms  and  bless  them,  and  to 
our  civilization  He  would  say,  "  Forbid  them 
not,  forbid  them  not ;  suffer  the  children  to  come 
unto  Me." 

A  father's  little  child  came  to  his  side  one 
morning  and  she  said,  "  Papa,  I  want  to  tell  God 
something,  but  my  little  voice  cannot  reach  as 


30  MIDNIGHT  IN  A   GREAT  CITY. 


far  as  the  heavens.  You  have  a  big  man's  voice, 
and  I  want  you  to  talk  with  Him;  He  will  be 
sure  to  hear  you;  He  will  hear  a  man."  And 
the  father  took  the  little  loved  one  in  his  arms 
and  said,  "  If  God  were  in  the  heavens  and  all 
the  angels  were  round  about  the  throne,  and  they 
were  making  the  sweetest  music  with  their  harps 
and  their  voices  that  heaven  ever  heard,  God 
would  say,  '  Stop  the  music,  stop  the  music, 
stop  it  now;  because  there  is  a  wee  little  girl 
away  down  on  the  earth  who  wants  to  whisper 
something  in  my  ear.'  "  Almighty  God  would 
do  that  for  every  waif  on  the  street  or  child 
in  the  slums. 


CHAPTER  III. 


THE  CLOUDS  ABOVE  RICH  HOMES. 

In  a  lone  room  of  a  rear  tenement,  in  the  gar- 
ret or  in  the  cellar,  live  hundreds  and  thousands 
of  families  in  a  single  city  of  this  country  in  per- 
petual nightmare  over  the  fear  of  not  being  able 
to  pay  the  exorbitant  rents  for  their  cattle  pens. 
They  live  in  constant  dread  of  Shylock's  knife, 
while  William  Waldorf  Astor  would  have  to  pay 
$178,000  a  year  had  the  income  tax  become  a 
law;  and  John  D.  Rockefeller  $152,000;  and 
Russell  Sage,  $90,000;  and  Jay  Gould's  estate, 
$80,000;  and  Cornelius  Vanderbilt,  $80,000; 
and  William  H.  Vanderbilt,  $75,000;  and  Henry 
W.  Flagler,  $60,000;  and  William  Rockefeller, 
$60,000;  and  John  Jacob  Astor,  $50,000;  and 
Moses  Taylor,  $50,000;  and  Hetty  Green, 
$30,000.  May  Heaven  pity  their  extreme  pov- 
erty, and  Heaven  be  praised  for  the  decision  of 
the  courts  in  their  favor!    When  there  are  hun- 

31 


3 2  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

dreds  of  thousands  in  these  twin  cities  on  the 
verge  of  that  fearful  precipice  of  starvation,  there 
are  just  a  few  of  their  fellow  men  who  hold  in 
their  grasp  millions  and  millions  of  dollars  of  an- 
nual income.  The  rich  are  growing  richer  and 
the  poor  are  growing  poorer,  and  in  that  solemn 
fact  is  one  of  the  greatest  perils  to  the  American 
people.  Some  day  there  will  be  a  tremendous 
uprising,  and  justice  will  lead  on  this  poverty- 
stricken  mob  to  victory.  There  seems  to  be 
something  radically  wrong  with  a  civilization 
which  permits  in  a  single  city  such  astounding 
extremes  in  society. 

If  riches  are  gotten  honestly  and  used  un- 
selfishly, the  very  dew  of  heaven  falls  upon  them. 
But  if  they  come  from  the  mint  of  dishonesty 
and  oppression  and  are  held  selfishly,  they  have 
passed  through  the  fires  of  hell,  and  their  blood- 
red  heat  is  burning  all  the  sweetness  out  of 
their  owner's  life  as  well  as  that  of  countless 
others. 

In  the  clouds  above  the  homes  of  the  rich  are 
the  fires  of  discontent  and  dissatisfaction.  I 
have  seen  those  tongues  rise  up  along  the  lace 
curtains  and  draperies  and  lick  them  as  a  hungry 
wolf  would  lick  a  drop  of  blood.    I  have  seen 


THE  CLOUDS  ABOVE  RICH  HOMES. 


33 


those  flames  creep  across  the  axminster  and 
velvet,  scorching  them  and  taking  off  the  last 
remnant  of  beauty  from  the  palace  floor.  I  have 
seen  those  fires  of  discontent  and  dissatisfaction 
burn  with  a  greater  blaze  in  the  mansion  than  I 
ever  saw  them  in  the  hovel.  I  was  in  the  home 
of  a  rich  woman  recently,  who  said  to  me,  "  Oh, 
life  is  getting  to  be  absolutely  unbearable !  " 
With  everything  that  heart  could  wish,  in  a  pal- 
ace, what  could  be  absolutely  unbearable?  She 
said,  "  Life  is  a  torment  from  night  until  morn- 
ing. These  servants  take  all  the  comfort  and 
peace  out  of  my  life,  and  take  all  the  patience 
out  of  my  heart.  It  is  a  constant  rapping  at 
the  door,  and  a  constant  answering  of  questions. 
First  the  coachman  is  in  trouble,  then  the  par- 
lor-maid is  in  trouble,  then  the  cook  is  in  trouble, 
then  the  upstairs  girl  is  in  trouble,  and  then  they 
are  all  in  trouble,  each  one  quarreling  with  the 
other;  and  so  it  goes  from  the  time  I  get  up  in 
the  morning  until  I  retire  at  night,  which  makes 
life  far  from  pleasant  here.  Oh,  those  miserable 
servants !  "  What  a  comfort  for  the  woman  who 
sweeps  her  own  small  house  and  washes  her  own 
dishes  and  her  own  children! 

I  rode  up  one  of  the  richest  streets  in  the 


34  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

world  with  one  of  the  old  residents,  and  it 
was  a  lesson  most  impressive.  He  was  ac- 
quainted with  almost  every  residence  on  either 
side  of  that  street,  and  he  described  the  house  and 
the  members  of  the  family,  and  the  condition 
within  many  of  those  four  walls.  It  was  startling 
and  astonishing  to  hear  of  a  skeleton,  not  only  in 
every  closet  but  in  every  room  of  every  house 
along  that  entire  street  where  riches  were 
counted  by  the  millions.  In  this  house  was  the 
breaking  up  of  family  relations,  and  a  divorce 
had  taken  place;  and  in  this  house  death  had 
taken  one  member  after  another;  and  in  this 
house  dyspepsia  had  done  its  work;  and  in  that 
house  other  diseases  had  done  their  work.  Here 
lived  an  old  paralytic,  a  man  of  rich  possessions. 
Where  could  he  enjoy  his  wealth — now  upon  a 
bed,  an  invalid?  The  catalogue  was  something 
beyond  description.  There  was  scarcely  an  ex- 
ception, along  the  entire  street,  to  that  same  sad 
story  of  dissatisfaction  with  life  and  discontent 
here  upon  earth.  Content  and  rest  are  never 
carried  in  the  largest  purse  in  the  world.  Dis- 
satisfaction and  discontent  are  burning  with 
fearful  heat  in  many  a  palace. 

I  care  not  how  elegantly  the  house  may  be 


THE  CLOUDS  ABOVE  RICH  HOMES.  35 

furnished,  nor  how  artistically  it  may  be  con- 
structed, nor  how  rich  may  be  all  the  draperies 
and  the  chairs  and  the  rugs,  nor  how  costly  may 
be  the  garments  in  the  wardrobe;  dissatisfac- 
tion and  discontent  reign  supreme  in  many  of 
the  richest  homes  of  this  land. 

The  railroad  train  moved  at  a  rapid  rate  of 
speed,  and  I  looked  out  of  the  window  and  ad- 
mired the  beauty  of  the  country  as  we  passed 
through.  The  waters  of  the  river  rolled  on  to- 
ward the  sea.  The  hills  rolled  on  toward  the 
horizon.  The  trees  were  decked  with  the  white 
crystals  of  the  snow.  The  fields  were  all  covered 
with  those  same  white  robes,  which  made  a 
scene  beyond  any  power  of  the  artist's  brush  to 
paint  or  an  orator's  word  to  describe.  I  was 
admiring  the  beauty  that  God  had  seen  fit  in 
the  winter  time  to  place  upon  the  world  for 
human  vision,  when  suddenly  "  Castoria  "  broke 
in  to  mar  the  scenery.  "  Hood's  Sarsaparilla  " 
loomed  up  in  the  distance.  In  the  richest  home 
of  earth  there  will  be  something  to  come  and 
destroy  its  beauty. 

When  Alexander  III.  of  Russia  met  the 
children  of  Prince  Bismarck,  history  tells  us  that, 
as  the  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks,  he  said: 


3^  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


"  You  go  back  to  your  beautiful  home  in  Ger- 
many, and  I  go  back  to  my  prison  in  Russia." 
When  one  of  his  ministers  bade  him  good-by, 
Alexander  III.,  with  all  the  wealth  of  the  world 
in  his  hands  and  servants  without  number  be- 
neath his  scepter,  said  with  tears  again,  "  If  I 
could  only  get  out  of  this  palace,  this  dungeon; 
I  wish  I  might  go  down  into  the  country  and 
breathe  the  air  and  see  what  the  peasant  people 
see."  All  that  which  strikes  a  man's  life  can 
strike  in  a  palace  as  well  as  the  hovel.  When 
the  Czar's  wife  the  other  day  lost  her  baby  boy 
by  death,  her  heart  was  bursting  out  of  its  prison 
bars.  And  she  in  her  heart-sobs  declared  that 
she  had,  in  her  prison  life,  at  least  the  privilege 
of  a  peasant  woman  after  ill,  when  the  Czar  for- 
bade her  going  to  the  cemetery  with  her  own 
baby  boy.  In  the  carriage  she  held  the  little 
casket.  That  which  strikes  the  life,  and  takes 
out  of  it  satisfaction  and  beauty,  strikes  with  a 
harder  blow,  oftentimes,  the  richest  home  on 
earth  than  it  does  the  hovel.  The  thunderbolt  of 
selfishness  falls  upon  the  rich  homes.  I  have 
seen  soul-life  gradually  becoming  more  and  more 
shriveled,  as  a  pea  becomes  shriveled  in  the 
autumn  days  in  the  dryness  of  its  pod,  and  the 


THE  CLOUDS  ABOVE  RICH  HOMES.  37 

miserly  expression  taking  possession  of  every 
feature  and  move  of  the  human  form;  and  that 
is  one  of  the  saddest  statements  that  can  be  made 
about  the  rich  home.  It  is  a  veritable  con- 
servatory of  selfishness. 

I  told  an  extremely  rich  man  of  two  women, 
both  having  consumption  and  unable  to  earn 
their  own  living,  in  the  third  story  in  a  single 
room,  and  shivering  under  the  winds  of  the 
winter  for  want  of  coal ;  becoming  more  pale  and 
emaciated  for  the  want  of  food — that  his  blood 
coursed  through  their  veins,  and  they  were  his 
cousins.  I  plead  that  out  of  his  millions  he  would 
give  them  some  little  relief  in  these  poverty- 
stricken  circumstances.  He  replied  to  me  that 
he  did  not  recognize  such  cousins.  He  turned 
around  from  that  reply  and  gave  to  a  uni- 
versity. The  blind,  flattering  world  says 
"generosity";  but  Heaven  says,  "Thou  in  thy 
lifetime  hadst  thy  good  things;  not  a  drop  of 
water  now  for  a  parched  tongue."  If  that  is 
what  millions  do  for  a  man's  soul,  then  it  is  the 
greatest  curse  that  ever  came  into  mortal  life. 

Robespierre,  that  bloodthirsty  Frenchman, 
who  cut  the  heads  from  other  men,  with 
apparent  delight  listened  to  a  lady  who  plead, 


33  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

as  hot  tears  scalded  her  cheeks,  that  he  would 
save  the  life  of  her  husband.  He  sternly  re- 
fused, and  said  he  must  have  his  blood.  As  she 
passed  out  with  a  broken  heart  she  happened  to 
touch  her  foot  against  a  dog  which  was  there, — 
a  member  of  his  own  family  and  one  of  his  own 
kind, — and  as  the  dog  howled  he  turned  around 
and,  pushing  her  through  the  door,  said, 
"  Woman,  have  you  no  humanity? "  Robes- 
pierre was  not  the  only  man  with  just  as  little 
sense  of  what  humanity  meant  as  that.  It  has 
again  and  again  occurred,  in  these  great  cities  of 
ours,  that  the  blood  of  the  dog  is  more  precious 
than  that  of  humankind. 

What  oppression  is  it  when  the  "  coal  com- 
bine "  increases  the  price  of  coal  in  order  to  put 
up  more  draperies  in  rich  homes  in  New  York 
City,  and  in  order  to  increase  their  millions  by 
the  increase  of  a  few  cents  a  ton  for  coal,  and 
then  gain  some  more  millions  by  another  in- 
crease, while  in  the  tenement  children  are  shiver- 
ing, and  fathers  and  mothers  are  suffering  for 
want  of  a  few  pounds  of  coal;  and  when,  by 
virtue  of  their  poverty,  they  are  compelled  to  pay 
already  ten  dollars  a  ton  for  that  which  they  re- 
ceive because  they  buy  it  by  the  quart.    Out  of 


THE  CLOUDS  ABOVE  RICH  HOMES.  39 


those  tenements  and  hovels  has  been  taken  this 
very  hour  the  last  ounce  of  coal  by  Wall  Street 
millionaires  who  ought  to  be  sent  to  Sing  Sing. 

May  God's  throne  bring  justice  speedily  for 
the  bloodthirstiness  of  men  who,  with  millions 
and  uncounted  millions  in  their  possession,  are 
placing  the  knife  at  the  throat  of  millions  of  their 
fellow-men.  Basest  hell-born  injustice!  Bar- 
barism deeper-dyed  than  ever  was  found  on 
Cannibal  Islands! 

Out  of  the  black  clouds  above  rich  homes 
comes  the  storm  of  unhappiness  and  insecurity 
of  connubial  relations.  There  you  find  one  of 
the  chief  evils  in  our  present  day  at  the  very 
height  of  its  power.  In  a  single  paper,  on  a 
single  page,  we  can  read  in  one  of  the  richest 
families  of  this  country  two  divorce  cases,  black 
with  scandal  which  the  millions  cannot  cover  up. 
That  which  is  the  very  foundation-stone  of  our 
security,  that  upon  which  the  whole  super- 
structure of  our  modern  society  must  rest  for 
its  safety,  is  crumbling  in  the  highest  circles  of 
society.  There  has  been  a  proposition  made  by 
some  of  these  women,  and  an  effort  made  to 
have  it  established  by  law,  that  when  a  marriage 
ceremony  is  performed,  instead  of  "  until  death 


40  MIDXIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

do  us  part,"  it  shall  read,  "  until  love  and  self- 
respect  disappear."  That  is  the  ideal  of  some 
of  the  "  richest  "  in  this  world. 

I  walked  from  the  lowest  place  on  the  Bowery 
on  the  same  night  up  to  one  of  the  palace  bar- 
rooms of  this  world.  I  went  from  one  extreme 
to  the  other,  in  order  to  see  the  evil  at  both  ends 
of  the  line.  In  that  barroom  there  gathered  at 
that  midnight  hour  men  dressed  the  finest, 
with  largest  diamonds,  coming  from  the  richest 
homes  of  New  York  City,  drinking  and  carous- 
ing together.  I  said,  "  As  black  is  the  iniquity 
as  that  in  the  lowest  downtown  dive;  and  just  as 
far-reaching  in  its  fearful  results."  The  wives 
were  somewhere  else,  or  at  home,  mourning 
over  a  life  in  which  they  had  been  foolish  enough 
to  imprison  themselves,  and  mourning  the  want 
of  love  and  respect  which  all  the  wealth  in  their 
possession  could  not  furnish  them;  waiting  in 
sorrow  for  relief  of  easy  divorce.  The  news 
from  the  Old  World  tells  of  some  American 
heiress  who  has  married  a  prince,  and  that  de- 
bauchee, who  has  been  too  bad  and  dissipated 
to  enter  a  respectable  home,  has  taken  her  across 
the  water  and  determined  to  himself  that  he 
would  take  out  of  her  all  of  her  American  in- 


THE  CLOUDS  ABOVE  RICH  HOMES.  4* 

dependence;  and  she  has  found  herself  over  there 
in  misery  and  anxious  to  get  rid  of  her  prince. 
That  wretchedness  prevails  from  the  time  that 
the  bridal  veil  is  worn  in  these  cities  of  ours 
until  the  divorce  law  does  its  work. 

I  have  been  in  the  clubrooms  of  the  city,  and 
I  said  as  I  entered,  "  These  are  like  the  palace 
of  Circe,  built  of  beautiful  marble,  snow-white 
with  its  purity  and  wonderful,  unexplained 
mystery  of  beauty,  standing  in  the  world,  attract- 
ing humankind";  in  those  very  centers  of  at- 
traction stood  the  finest  works  of  art;  there  were 
the  most  expensive  pieces  of  literary  work;  there 
were  the  thousand-candled  chandeliers;  there 
was  the  richest  plate;  and  the  flowers  were 
blossoming  and  giving  their  fragrance  lavishly; 
there  were  lovely  forms  moving  through  the 
corridors  and  across  the  parlors;  there  was  won- 
derful and  almost  entrancing  music  heard  from 
the  mystic  recess  where  orchestras  and  sing- 
ers were  gathered ;  and  all  of  a  sudden  the  queen 
of  the  palace,  Circe,  came  out  and  passed 
through  the  halls  and  through  the  reception 
rooms  and  the  parlors,  and  swung  her  wand, 
and  men  fell  down  like  swine  on  the  floor  and 
wallowed  in  their  sties.    Like  the  palace  of  Circe 


4 2  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

are  many  of  the  clubrooms  in  these  cities  of 
ours — men  are  simply  brought  from  that  which 
is  high  and  noble  to  the  very  position  of  the 
animal  world,  to  the  destruction  of  all  sacred- 
ness  and  sweetness  in  life  and  home. 

Said  one  woman  to  another,  in  her  agonies, 
"  Here  it  is  getting  near  midnight,  and  I  have 
been  waiting  two  hours  for  my  husband." 
"  That  is  nothing,"  said  the  other,  "  I  have  been 
waiting  twenty-five  years  for  a  husband."  But 
she  might  wait  one  hundred  and  twenty-five 
years  or  an  eternity  for  a  husband  rather  than 
have  the  one  which  the  other  woman  possessed. 
There  can  be  no  happiness  or  home  life  where 
the  marriage  relation  is  held  with  so  little  sacred- 
ness  as  it  is  in  the  larger  part  of  the  rich  homes 
of  the  city.  For  some  young  women  every  year 
is  a  leap  year,  and  they  leap  too  quickly.  They 
leap  in  the  dark,  they  leap  for  the  prize  of  wealth, 
but  in  the  endeavor  to  reach  it  they  fall  down 
over  the  precipice  and  down  the  mountain  side, 
striking  in  the  chasm,  bleeding  and  mangled 
and  broken-hearted.  Many  a  young  woman  in 
the  richest  homes  of  these  cities  has  been  guilty 
of  that  crime  of  suicide  by  thrusting  the  knife  of 
false  love  into  her  heart. 


THE  CLOUDS  ABOVE  RICH  HOMES.  43 

The  ruination  of  children  composes  a  part  of 
the  blackening  of  these  clouds.  How  many  ele- 
ments are  there  to  make  children  weaker  morally, 
mentally,  and  physically?  They  stand  in  the 
greatest  danger  of  almost  any  class  of  children 
on  the  face  of  the  earth.  They  are  weakened 
by  those  very  forces  which  move  through  the 
homes  of  the  rich.  How  does  luxury  affect  the 
man  or  woman's  soul?  How  does  luxury 
affect  the  body?  How  does  luxury  affect  the 
mind?  Did  you  ever  know  the  life  which  had 
been  spent  in  eating  too  luxuriously,  and  eating 
too  much,  and  eating  too  often,  to  amount  to 
anything  in  this  world?  Did  you  ever  know 
success  to  follow  the  life  which  had  been 
tied  with  ribbons  into  a  mummy-like  form,  and 
donned  the  cast-off  clothing  of  the  ostrich  and 
peacock,  or  of  other  vain  birds  of  the  world, 
and  been  pressed  out  of  shape  by  the  jaws  of 
a  whalebone,  or  of  anything  else  that  is  in  the 
world  of  fashion?  I  say,  "  Heaven  pity  the  boy 
or  the  girl  who  lives  in  the  home  of  fashion,  the 
home  of  luxury,  and  the  home  of  idleness,  be- 
cause that  is  the  home  of  ruin." 

They  are  growing  up  into  manhood  and 
womanhood  with  weakened,  emaciated,  round- 


44 


MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


shouldered,  consumptive,  and  dyspeptic  bodies; 
with  brains  which  have  never  been  allowed  to  en- 
large or  increase  in  power,  and  souls  withered 
and  shriveled  and  blasted.  In  the  time  of  storm 
our  sympathy  reaches  out  to  those  on  the  deep 
waters  and  the  high  seas,  but  there  has  been  a 
greater  storm  rolling  over  New  York  city  and 
Brooklyn  than  ever  tossed  the  old  Atlantic. 
More  men  and  women  are  wrecked  in  these 
cities  than  on  the  seas.  All  the  music  is 
gone  when  the  singer  is  wrecked  on  the  high 
C's,  but  I  would  rather  have  the  sweet  voice 
wrecked  forever  than  to  have  the  music  of  life 
gone  when  an  immortal  soul,  and  that  body  made 
in  the  image  and  likeness  of  God,  and  that  mind 
which  has  the  power  to  reach  out  into  the  very 
eternities  itself,  are  wrecked  on  the  high  seas 
of  society. 

A  father  who  lives  in  one  of  the  richest  homes 
I  have  ever  entered  and  in  which  I  enjoyed  to 
be,  because  of  his  humble  Christian  character, 
and  of  his  intellectual  and  conversational  powers, 
said  in  my  presence  and  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
as  he  talked  to  me  concerning  his  boy  grown  up 
into  manhood  (his  highest  ambition  to  carry 
a  cord-wood  stick  for  a  cane,  and  a  single  eye- 


THE  CLOUDS  ABOVE  RICH  HOMES.  45 

glass  for  spectacles,  wearing  the  best  clothes 
that  he  could  put  on  his  back,  his  brain  soften- 
ing and  his  heart  hardening),  "  I  saw  the  time 
when  I  had  less,  when  I  lived  in  two  rooms  and 
my  wife  did  her  own  work.  Then  I  had  the 
highest  happiness  of  my  life.  In  that  hour  I 
might  have  saved  my  boy,  but  he  is  beyond  my 
reach  now." 

Into  my  home  came  a  young  man  dressed  in 
the  best  the  tailor  could  furnish.  He  sobbed  like 
a  child  as  he  told  me  about  his  home  and  his  par- 
ents, and  said  that  they  had  driven  him  out  of 
doors  and  told  him  never  to  enter  again.  With- 
out money  he  had  been  walking  the  streets, 
even  begging.  He  would  never  go  back  in  his 
pride;  he  said  he  would  never  go  back,  for  they 
told  him  never  to  enter  again.  Because  of  his 
dissipation,  the  father  had  literally  pushed  the 
boy  over  the  doorsill,  and  told  him  to  get  out  into 
the  cold  world  and  into  the  depths  of  the  earth, 
and  then  to  hell  itself.  He  said  that  on  their 
sideboards  and  on  their  tables  wines,  the  best, 
could  always  be  had.  The  father  and  mother 
of  the  family  never  went  to  church.  They  never 
had  a  Bible  in  the  house.  Everything  was  there 
of  the  best  to  drink  and  eat.    "  Living  in  that 


46  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


stale  of  luxury  has  brought  me  to  this  time  in  my 
life  without  a  trade  and  without  the  power  to 
earn  a  cent — a  drunken,  dissipated  wretch,  ask- 
ing you  for  something  to  eat."  We  knelt  down 
there  and  prayed,  while  my  heart  ached  for  that 
poor  boy,  clothed  in  the  best  of  garments  and 
sobbing  over  his  sin  and  envying  the  poorest 
lad  his  home-life. 

When  Cyrus  W7.  Field  died  he  did  not  talk 
about  the  Atlantic  cable  or  the  wonderful 
achievements  of  his  life,  but  he  said,  "  My  life  is 
wrecked,  my  home  is  destroyed,  my  fortune  is 
gone.  How  bad  I  was;  how  bad  I  was  to  my 
son!  I  thought  I  was  kind  to  him,  but  I 
ruined  him.  If  I  had  only  taught  my  boys  and 
compelled  them  to  earn  their  own  living,  I  would 
have  saved  them,  and  saved  myself  and  my 
home."  Out  of  a  life  noble,  and  a  life  rich  like 
that  came  the  sad  and  pathetic  cry/'  Oh,  if  I  had 
only  taught  Edward  differently;  if  I  only  had!  " 
In  that  kind  of  world,  in  that  sort  of  atmosphere, 
boys  and  girls  grow  to  young  manhood  and 
womanhood,  with  their  eyes  dead  to  human 
suffering,  and  their  ears  dead  to  the  cry  of  dis- 
tress, and  their  fingers  dead  to  the  touch  of  pity, 
and  their  feet  dead  to  the  paths  of  usefulness, 


THE  CLOUDS  ABOVE  RICH  HOMES.  47 


and  their  brain  dead  to  thoughts  uplifting,  and 
their  heart  dead  to  the  sound  of  anguish — 
over  their  entire  life  is  thrown  a  blanket  which 
smothers  out  the  last  spark  of  divinity. 

The  winds  of  idolatry  sweep  from  the  lower 
world  through  the  clouds  above  the  homes  of 
the  rich.  It  is  the  old  story  the  rich  young  man 
gave  the  world  when  he  came  to  Christ  with  his 
great  possessions  and  wanted  to  inherit  eternal 
life;  and  Jesus  said,  "  You  must  give  up  your 
selfishness,  you  must  give  up  your  inhumanity, 
and  you  must  give  up  your  riches  if  you  are  to 
enter  the  Kingdom  of  God."  But  the  poor  fellow 
turned  away  sorrowful,  for  he  wanted  to  keep  his 
clothes,  and  keep  that  farm,  and  those  riches  of 
his.  "  How  hardly  shall  they  that  have  riches 
enter  into  the  Kingdom  of  God."  Riches  do  not 
keep  a  man  out  of  the  Kingdom  of  God.  You 
say,  "  Money  is  the  root  of  all  evil."  That  is 
not  in  the  Bible.  "  The  love  of  money  is  the 
root  of  all  evil."  In  that  man's  life  who  has  had 
his  whole  education  directed  toward  the  getting 
of  riches  there  has  been  going  on  also  an  educa- 
tion toward  selfishness  and  covetousness  and 
miserliness,  and  it  is  that  trust  in  his  riches  in- 
stead of  trusting  in  God  which  destroys  a  man's 


4§  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREA  T  CITY. 


soul-life  and  makes  him  forgetful  of  God.  He 
bows  down  to 

"  That  false  god  of  gold,  gold,  gold ; 
Bright,  yellow,  hard,  and  cold, 
Molten,  graven,  hammered,  rolled  ; 
Light  to  get  and  heavy  to  hold  ; 
Spurned  by  the  young,  and  hugged  by  the  old 
To  the  very  verge  of  the  graveyard  mold  ; 
The  price  of  many  a  crime  untold, 
Gold,  gold,  gold,  gold." 

Before  that  god  he  falls  down  and  gives  his 
worship.  That  is  the  penalty  man  pays  for 
trusting  in  this  world's  goods.  You  may  have 
the  most  beautiful  home  on  earth,  built  of 
marble  the  finest  the  quarries  of  earth  can  give, 
and  before  which  the  sculptor,  the  best  and 
most  skillful,  has  stood,  and  his  hammer  and 
chisel  have  done  their  best  work,  and  he  has 
said  proudly,  "  It  is  finished."  The  doorway 
stands  with  all  of  its  arched  glory  as  the  most 
hospitable  welcome  ever  given  to  mortals.  In 
the  corridors  you  find  the  richest  draperies  and 
most  expensive  of  artists'  pictures.  In  the  recep- 
tion room  and  the  parlors  and  the  library  lie  the 
plush,  axminster,  and  velvet.  Rare  embroideries 
hang  from  the  walls  and  rest  upon  the  floor 


THE  CLOUDS  ABOVE  RICH  HOMES.  49 

under  the  brilliancy  of  those  hundred-candled 
chandeliers.  On  the  walls  hang  the  latest  and 
most  expensive  works  of  art.  In  the  library  are 
the  books  in  which  the  mind  could  revel.  In 
that  kind  of  home,  in  that  center  of  luxury, 
where  the  dining  table  is  breaking  beneath  the 
weight  of  the  best  that  the  trees  and  grounds  of 
the  world  can  give,  the  very  best  that  the  forests 
and  streams  could  furnish,  in  that  palace  of 
beauty  and  glory,  I  declare  with  the  strongest 
emphasis  that  important  fact  for  the  knowledge 
of  modern  society — this  is  not  home.  These  are 
not  the  lines  in  the  structure  of  that  beautiful 
word  H-O-M-E.  Wealth  does  not  make  it; 
love  and  character  make  it.  They  build  it  on 
earth  and  they  build  it  in  heaven. 

There  is  a  more  beautiful  mansion  than  any 
that  ever  stood  on  the  ground  of  earth — a  man- 
sion to  whose  door-sill  the  lowest  denizen  of  the 
tenement  house  can  come  and  walk  in  and  say, 
"  This  is  mine,  this  is  mine."  For  Jesus  the  son 
of  God  enters  the  tenements  and  stands  be- 
fore the  poverty-stricken  ones  without  coal 
or  food  or  raiment,  and  in  His  infinite  sym- 
pathy, and  Godlike  pity  and  unbounded  love, 
says,  "  Child,  have  patience.     I  go  to  pre- 


5°  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

pare  a  place  for  you,  and  if  I  go  and  prepare 
a  place  for  you,  I  will  come  again  and  re- 
ceive you  unto  myself."    As  the  gates  of  pearl 
stand  ajar,  I  look  through  into  the  city  and  I 
see  one  walking  up  the  pavements  of  gold,  with 
angels  on  either  side,  with  friends  behind  and 
friends  before.    I  see  him  going  on  toward  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  mansions  in  Heaven  and 
entering  that  palace  while  the  angels  tell  him 
that  this  is  the  one  that  Christ  gave  him,  and  I 
look  at  him  carefully  and  I  say,  "  Angel,  angel, 
who  is  it?    Who  is  that?    Is  he  a  prince  of  the 
world?  "    The  angels  say,  "  No,  no;  look  again, 
you  know  him,  you  saw  him,"  and  I  say,  "  Is  it 
possible?    Is  it  possible?    Where  are  the  rags; 
where  is  the  hunger  ?    Is  it  possible  that  I  see 
in  him  that  poor  man  in  the  seventh  story  of  a 
back-yard  New  York  tenement,  in  a  single  room, 
dying  with  consumption  ?  "    "  Yes,"  the  angel 
guards  say,  "  Yes,  it  is  he,  and  you  heard  him  say 
just  before  he  left  the  world,  '  I  am  going  to 
Jesus;  I  am  going  home.'     Out  of  the  New 
York  tenement  and  hovel,  he  is  in  heaven." 
Then  I  stepped  back  and  thought  of  one  of  the 
richest  men  of  his  day  in  New  York  city,  in  a 


THE  CLOUDS  ABOVE  RICH  HOMES-  51 


palace  in  his  room  on  downy  pillows  and 
softest  mattress,  but  in  greatest  agony.  One 
week  'before  an  eminent  minister  had  entered 
his  office  and  said  to  him,  "  I  have  seen  you 
so  often  in  church,  your  wife  with  you,  and  I 
have  been  anxious  for  your  salvation;  with 
all  that  this  world  has  given  you,  you  must 
have  Christ  if  you  are  going  to  be  saved."  He 
told  him  of  his  anxiety  and  pleaded  with  him 
to  make  his  peace  with  God.  The  man  wheeled 
around  in  his  chair,  looked  at  him  for  a  moment, 
and  said,  "  Sir,  I  am  always  glad  to  have  you 
come  and  see  me ;  you  are  welcome  to  this  office, 
but  you  need  never  come  and  say  another  word 
to  me  about  my  soul.  I  have  no  use  for  Jesus 
Christ  as  a  personal  saviour;  never  mention  the 
subject  to  me  again."  The  next  Monday  morn- 
ing before  daylight,  that  same  man  of  God  was 
called  by  messenger  to  come  to  this  palace  in 
New  York  city.  He  entered  the  bedroom  where 
the  wife  and  children  were  gathered  around  the 
couch  of  the  dying  man.  Tears  were  falling 
upon  the  white  counterpane  and  hearts  were 
breaking  with  sobs.  But  it  was  too  late,  it  was 
too  late;  the  final  moments  had  come;  and  with 


52  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


the  last  breath  that  crossed  the  threshold  of  the 
dying  millionaire's  lips  came  these  words :  "  Oh, 
who,  who  will  carry  me  over  the  river?  "  Better 
the  pierced  hand  of  Christ  in  human  hand  than 
all  the  wealth  of  the  world. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE  CENTER  OF  INIQUITY. 

I  have  stood  in  front  of  the  saloon  door  and 
read  along  the  lines  of  the  green  screen  this  ter- 
rific indictment: 

"  The  saloon  cuts  down  youth  in  its  vigor, 
manhood  in  its  strength,  and  age  in  its  weakness. 

"  It  breaks  the  father's  heart,  bereaves  the 
mother,  extinguishes  affections,  erases  conjugal 
love,  blots  out  filial  attachments,  blasts  parental 
hopes,  and  brings  down  mourning  age  in  sor- 
row to  the  grave. 

"  It  produces  weakness,  not  strength;  sick- 
ness, not  health;  death,  not  life. 

"It  makes  wives  widows;  children,  orphans; 
fathers,  fiends — and  all  of  them  paupers  and 
beggars. 

"  It  feeds  rheumatism,  nurses  gout,  welcomes 
epidemics,  invites  cholera,  imparts  pestilence, 
and  embraces  consumption. 

53 


54  MWMGUT  IN  A   GREAT  CITY. 


"  It  covers  the  land  with  idleness,  misery,  and 
crime. 

"  It  fills  your  jails,  supplies  your  almshouses, 
and  demands  your  asylums. 

"  It  engenders  controversies,  fosters  quarrels, 
and  cherishes  riots. 

"  It  crowds  your  penitentiaries  and  furnishes 
victims  to  your  scaffolds. 

"  It  is  the  life-blood  of  the  gambler,  the  ele- 
ment of  the  burglar,  the  inspiration  of  the  high- 
wayman, and  the  support  of  the  midnight 
incendiary. 

"  It  countenances  the  liar,  respects  the  thief, 
esteems  the  blasphemer. 

"  It  violates  obligations,  reverences  fraud, 
honors  infamy. 

"  It  defames  benevolence;  hates,  scorns  virtue, 
and  slanders  innocence. 

"  It  incites  the  father  to  butcher  his  helpless 
offspring,  helps  the  husband  to  massacre  his 
wife,  and  the  child  to  grind  the  parricidal  ax. 

"  It  burns  up  men,  consumes  women,  detests 
life,  curses  God,  and  despises  heaven. 

"  It  suborns  witnesses,  nurses  perjury,  defiles 
the  jury  box,  and  stains  the  judicial  ermine. 

"  It  degrades  the  citizen,  debases  the  legis- 


THE  CENTER  OF  INIQUITY. 


55 


lature,  dishonors  the  statesman,  and  disarms  the 
patriot. 

"  It  brings  shame,  not  honor;  terror,  not 
safety;  despair,  not  hope;  misery,  not  happi- 
ness, and  with  the  malevolence  of  a  fiend  it 
calmly  surveys  its  frightful  desolation,  and  un- 
satisfied with  its  havoc,  it  kills  peace,  ruins 
morals,  blights  confidence,  slays  reputation,  and 
wipes  out  national  honor;  then  curses  the  world, 
and  laughs  at  its  ruin. 

"  It  does  all  that  and  more — it  murders  the 
soul. 

"  It  is  the  sum  of  all  villainies,  the  father  of 
all  crimes,  the  mother  of  all  abominations,  the 
devil's  best  friend,  and  God's  worst  enemy." 

I  have  entered  the  lowest  saloons  in  the  city, 
and  heard  the  clanking  of  chains,  and  seen  the 
orgies  of  demons,  and  witnessed  the  sufferings 
of  the  damned — and  have  said  that  awful  indict- 
ment is  true,  every  word  of  it  is  fact  and  can 
never  be  contradicted.  The  chief  curse  of  our 
modern  social  world  is  the  saloon.  It  is  the 
strongest  force  sent  out  for  the  destruction  of 
this  planet.  It  is  the  very  hot-bed  in  these  great 
cities  where  grow  all  other  sin  and  ruin.  It 
swings  open  more  doors  to  perdition  than  any 


56  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

other  demon  hand.  It  is  the  prince  of  de- 
stroyers in  home  and  government  and  body  and 
soul.  It  is  the  supreme  opposition  to  the  prog- 
ress of  the  Kingdom  of  God.  It  stands  at 
nearly  every  corner  to  disgrace  civilization,  to 
mock  Christianity,  and  to  remind  us  that  it  shall 
be  more  tolerable  for  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  in 
the  judgment  day  than  for  that  city.  Here  is 
the  home  of  anarchy,  and  above  it  floats  the* 
American  flag.  I  have  seen  its  crimson  bars 
running  parallel  to  that  other  crimson  bar  and 
made  to  be  the  companion  of  its  blood.  That 
most  beautiful  emblem  ever  unfurled  to  the 
breezes  in  any  part  of  the  world  is  dragged 
through  the  filth  and  crime  and  lawlessness  of 
ten  thousand  times  a  thousand  saloons.  Oh, 
for  more  patriotic  souls  like  an  Ellsworth  to  love 
it  as  his  life,  or  a  Barbara  Frietchie  to  shout, 

"  Shoot  if  you  must  this  old  gray  head, 
But  spare  your  country's  flag." 

We  rejoice  in  our  liberty,  but  are  forgetting 
the  tremendous  price  we  paid  for  liberty,  and  the 
definition  of  liberty.  Liberty  too  often  means 
license.  The  greatest  peril  to  our  liberty  is  law- 
lessness.   The  hand  that  will  tear  your  glorious 


THE  CENTER  OF  INIQUITY.  57 

banner  with  seam  and  gash  is  the  hand  of 
anarchy,  and  the  hand  of  anarchy  is  the  saloon. 
The  very  chief  of  law-breakers  in  the  great  cities 
are  the  saloon  keepers  and  those  associated  with 
them.  They  are  dragging  the  only  king  in  this 
country  from  his  throne  and  hurling  him  in  the 
mud  and  filth  of  earth.  We  see  law  trampled 
upon  and  stand  by  without  making  a  single  pro- 
test, while  out  of  the  throat  of  anarchy  comes 
the  cry  of  liberty.  I  would  rather  have  King 
George  pour  his  taxation  tea  down  my  throat 
the  rest  of  my  natural  life  than  to  have  that 
which  the  saloon  calls  liberty. 

On  the  Sabbath  day,  out  of  one  of  the  dens 
established  on  this  earth  by  his  Satanic  Majesty 
to  carry  on  his  most  nefarious  business,  a 
drunken  man  stumbles  out  across  the  sidewalk 
and  pushes  me  into  the  gutter.  Is  that  liberty? 
He  did  it,  and  the  only  possible  thing  for  me  to 
do  was  to  strike  the  drunkard,  and  I  might 
rather  strike  a  stone.  Is  that  liberty?  A 
drunkard  was  going  through  the  streets  of  Balti- 
more, swinging  his  hands  right  and  left  until  one 
of  them  came  in  contact  with  another  man's 
nose.  Instantly  the  man  clenched  his  fist  and 
tumbled  the  fellow  over  into  the  gutter.  He 


5$  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

picked  himself  up  and  rubbed  that  place  where 
he  had  been  hit,  and  said,  "  I  would  like  to 
know  if  this  isn't  a  land  of  liberty."  "  Yes," 
said  the  other  man,  "  but  your  liberty  ends  where 
my  nose  begins." 

If  the  German  does  not  like  America,  let  him 
go  back  to  Germany.  If  the  Irishman  does  not 
like  America,  let  him  go  back  to  Ireland,  and  I 
will  say  good-by  with  great  pleasure,  and  if  any 
other  man  on  the  face  of  the  earth  does  not  like 
this  country,  and  is  not  satisfied  without  his  Sab- 
bath desecration  and  his  beer  gardens  or  open 
saloons,  let  him  stay  where  he  came  from,  and 
stay  there  forever  until  he  gets  where  they  have 
seven  days  of  his  Sunday.  I  went  into  the  home 
of  a  beautiful  Christian  girl,  a  member  of  my 
church.  In  that  little  hovel  the  paper  had  been 
torn  from  the  walls  by  the  hand  of  a  drunken 
father,  and  an  old  lounge  stood  with  its  covering 
nearly  torn  from  its  frame,  and  the  plaster  had 
been  knocked  out  of  the  wall,  and  a  stove  was 
there  with  only  two  or  three  legs  under  it.  I 
often  had  wondered  why  it  was  that  she  did  not 
want  me  to  come  and  see  her.  At  last  I  went 
and  found  her  at  home.  As  I  came  in  the  door, 
out  of  a  little  back  room  she  rushed  into  my 


THE  CENTER  OF  INIQUITY.  59 

presence  for  me  to  rescue  her.  Her  pretty  face 
was  bruised,  and  blood  was  streaming  down  her 
cheeks.  The  drunken  father  rushed  in,  and  to 
save  my  own  life  and  hers  we  had  to  escape.  Is 
that  liberty?  It  is  the  crudest  slavery  that  ever 
bound  the  wrists  of  human  form.  Never  did  the 
black  man  of  the  South  know  the  bitter  slavery 
of  that  poor  white  girl  of  the  North. 

A  mother  had  a  son  who  was  her  only  support 
in  her  old  days.  He  was  accustomed  to  spend 
his  last  dollar  for  whisky,  and  this  made  her  life 
so  miserable  and  unbearable  that  at  last  she 
made  up  her  mind  to  commit  him  as  an  habitual 
drunkard.  When  the  day  came  and  she  was 
summoned  to  swear  to  the  offense,  it  was  too 
much  for  the  broken  heart  to  stand.  As  she  was 
about  to  say  what  they  wanted  her  to  say,  she 
fell  prostrate  to  the  floor  with  the  cry,  "  It  is 
breaking  my  heart."  Is  that  liberty?  If  that  is 
liberty,  then  give  me  slavery.  Let  the  shackles 
rattle  about  my  hands  and  about  my  feet;  let 
the  snap  of  the  lash  be  heard  above  my  head;  let 
me  live  in  the  home  of  the  black  man  in  the 
sunny  South  before  your  fathers  and  brothers 
and  loved  ones  shed  their  blood  for  his  liberty, 
if  that  is  liberty.    That  is  a  million  miles  away 


60  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREA  T  CITY. 

from  liberty.  If  that  is  liberty,  why  in  Heaven's 
name  did  they  drag  William  Lloyd  Garrison 
through  the  streets  of  Boston?  If  that  is  liberty, 
why  are  there  so  many  countless  and  unknown 
graves  in  the  Southland  now?  If  that  is  liberty, 
why  did  Ulysses  S.  Grant  lead  the  armies  of  the 
North  through  the  pathway  of  struggle  and 
slaughter  to  triumph?  If  that  is  liberty,  why 
did  Abraham  Lincoln  with  trembling  hand  and 
with  his  own  blood  write  the  Emancipation 
Proclamation?  It  is  a  shame  for  the  flag  of 
liberty  to  rise  above  such  sin  and  infamy  as  that 
and  be  disgraced  by  its  slavery. 

I  have  seen  in  the  saloons  the  poison  sold  to 
children.  There  is  a  law  against  that,  but  law 
kept  just  like  every  other  law  that  rests  above 
the  saloon  keeper's  head.  A  law  which  should 
be  most  sacred  is  broken  in  hundreds  and  thou- 
sands of  cases,  every  day,  in  these  cities.  A 
beautiful  curly-headed  little  fellow  of  five  sum- 
mers attracted  my  attention  going  into  a  saloon, 
and  I  waited  for  him  to  come  out,  when  I  saw 
that  he  had  a  pail  filled  with  the  infernal  stuff, 
coming  out  of  the  door.  I  stepped  back  and 
put  my  hand  on  his  head,  and  I  could  not  help 
raising    my    eyes    heavenward    and  saying, 


THE  CENTER  OF  INIQUITY. 


61 


"  Almighty  God,  bring  justice  on  earth  and  save 
the  boy."  A  saloon  is  the  home  of  the  an- 
archist, for  all  anarchists  are  graduates  from  the 
saloon.  We  ought  to  hang  the  real  anarchist 
who  has  the  red  light  on  the  corner,  and  let  the 
other  fellow  live,  because  in  that  nursery  is  born 
all  your  anarchy  and  lawlessness.  I  saw  in  the 
lowest  saloon  on  the  Bowery  the  newspaper 
account  of  that  institution  breaking  the  law, 
framed  in  an  oak  frame  and  hanging  on  the  wall 
because  of  pride  in  anarchy.  A  gentleman  went 
out  at  one  o'clock  at  night  in  a  certain  part  of 
New  York  city  and  found  a  little  fellow  five 
years  of  age,  almost  too  small  to  carry  the  pail 
he  had,  going  into  a  saloon  for  a  pail  of  beer. 
He  said,  "  I  went  in  and  forbade  the  bartender 
to  sell  him  that  stuff."  The  bartender  looked 
at  him  with  much  astonishment,  as  though  he 
had  come  in  there  to  throw  everything  into  the 
street.  The  bartender  ordered  him  to  get  out 
until  he  had  sold  the  stuff.  That  little  fellow 
had  to  carry  it  home  to  his  drunken  parents. 
All  day  long  a  boy  was  carrying  the  poison  from 
one  saloon  in  the  city  to  a  company  of  work- 
men, until  at  night  they  missed  him.  It  was 
Saturday  night;  Sunday  night,  they  went  almost 


62  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

crazy  when  they  sobered  up  and  could  not  find 
him.  Monday  they  found  him  in  an  old  cellar 
inhabited  by  rats,  and  the  rats  had  eaten  his  little 
form  half  up  by  that  time.  He  died  of  drunken- 
ness, because  during  the  entire  day  he  had  taken 
his  share  from  that  which  he  had  carried  to  the 
men,  and  then  made  food  for  the  animal  world. 

Recently  a  reporter  of  one  of  the  New  York 
newspapers  found  this  same  diabolical  custom 
continuing  at  such  a  rapid  pace  that  he  made  up 
his  mind  to  investigate,  and  almost  the  first 
thing  he  discerned  was  a  little  boy  and  girl  buy- 
ing that  accursed  stuff  and  then  carrying  it  into 
one  of  the  tenements.  He  followed  them,  and 
they  stopped  twice  on  their  way  and  drank 
nearly  half  of  it.  Then  he  came  back  to  the 
barroom,  and  the  bartender  said,  "  That  is  just 
the  way  they  do  it  all  the  time.  That  mother 
will  swear  at  me  because  I  didn't  give  her  half 
measure,  when  I  gave  her  big  measure."  He 
said,  "  The  children  do  it ;  and  more  than  that/'* 
he  said,  "  one-half  of  all  the  proceeds  of  this  con- 
cern comes  through  the  children  buying  it,  and 
that  is  the  way  the  drunkards  are  made." 
These  children  are  taken  right  out  of  the  very 
circumference  of  your  law  and  placed  right  over 


THE  CENTER  OF  INIQUITY.  63 

into  that  area,  which  is  to  be  not  only  their 
temporal  but  their  eternal  destruction.  In  the 
name  of  humanity  and  the  name  of  God,  is  the 
clock  not  striking  the  hour  for  the  prosecution 
of  those  scoundrels  and  for  the  salvation  of  tens 
of  thousands  of  children?  "A  saloon  can  no 
more  be  run  without  using  up  boys  than  a  flour- 
ing mill  without  wheat,  or  a  sawmill  without 
logs.  The  only  question  is,  "  Whose  boys? 
yours  or  mine?    Our  boys  or  our  neighbor's?" 

In  the  saloon  I  saw  the  match  which  was 
burning  up  the  homes.  I  have  seen  in  these 
saloons,  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  so  many  men 
that  they  completely  packed  the  place,  and 
admittance  for  anyone  else  was  impossible.  I 
did  not  see  one  with  an  overcoat  upon  his  back, 
although  it  was  a  cold  night,  nor  did  I  see  one 
with  any  sign  of  respectability  about  him;  but  I 
saw  them  stand  by  the  bar  and  spend  their  last 
farthing  for  that  which  was  not  only  to  destroy 
themselves  but  to  put  fire  beneath  their  tene- 
ment home.  They  were  making  beasts  of  them- 
selves and  doing  that  which  they  knew  would 
take  the  very  life  out  of  the  body  and  life  out  of 
the  soul.  In  that  presence  I  heard  a  sound,  and 
I  listened,  and  I  remember  that  sound  now.  I 


64  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  ORE  A  T  CITY. 

listened,  to  hear  the  saddest  sound  that  ever  falls 
on  mortal  ears — I  heard  the  children  crying  for 
bread.  And  then  I  heard  a  sound  coming  from 
another  direction;  it  came  up  from  the  lower 
world,  and  it  was  the  very  laughter  of  the 
demons  as  they  beheld  the  sight  and  heard  the 
children  cry.  Right  in  the  center  of  the  saloons 
in  New  York  city  and  in  Brooklyn,  in  the  center 
of  the  tenement  districts,  we  find  the  pawn 
shops  numbered  by  the  scores  and  almost 
hundreds.  How  do  they  thrive?  I  will  tell 
you.  A  poor  fellow  who  had  spent  his  last 
farthing  was  forced  to  pawn  his  overcoat,  for 
which  he  had  paid  fifteen  dollars,  and  pawned 
it  for  three  dollars.  After  a  short  time  he  came 
to  me  and  begged  me  to  go  to  the  pawn  shop 
that  I  might  be  able,  with  some  influence  at- 
tached to  his,  to  redeem  the  coat,  as  the  winter 
had  become  more  severe.  I  went  with  him  to 
the  pawn  shop,  and  almost  literally  had  to  fight 
to  secure  that  garment.  I  then  discovered,  by 
reference  to  their  books,  in  order  to  find  his  coat, 
that  in  a  single  day,  across  the  threshold  of  that 
damnable  place  came  no  less  than  seven  hun- 
dred human  beings  with  the  last  remnants  of 
home  carried  in  there  to  buy  food  or  to  buy 


THE  CENTER  OF  INIQUITY.  65 

whisky — seven  hundred  in  a  day.  And  I  said, 
"Whose  is  that  watch?"  "That  is  a  father's 
watch."  And  I  said,  "Whose  is  that  shawl?" 
"  A  mother's  shawl."  And  I  said,  "  Whose  are 
those  shoes?"  "A  baby's  shoes."  Someone 
went  into  one  of  these  places  and  found  there  a 
man,  who  walked  up  to  the  counter  and  threw 
down  a  little  pair  of  pink  slippers  and  said, 
"  Give  me  ten  cents."  With  some  real  heart — 
you  would  not  suppose  it  was  there — the  pawn- 
broker said,  "  Where  did  you  get  them?  "  He 
said,  "  It's  baby's  shoes."  Then  he  said,  "  You 
had  better  take  them  back.  Your  wife  will  feel 
bad."  "  Yes,  wife  will  feel  bad  about  them,  but 
I  want  another  drink."  "  Well,"  said  the  pawn- 
broker, "baby  will  need  them;  you  had  better 
take  them  back."  "  No,  baby  will  not  need 
them.  Baby  died  last  night,  and  is  home  in  the 
house  dead  now.  Baby  will  not  need  them,  give 
me  ten  cents."  The  pawnbroker  took  the  little 
slippers  and  passed  out  ten  cents,  and  the  infer- 
nal business  moved  on.  He  was  in  partnership 
with  the  saloons  all  about,  for  the  destruction  of 
home  and  the  making  of  misery. 

I  saw  in  this  vestibule  of  perdition,  that  sacred 
element  in  human  life  called  friendship  turned 


66  MIDXIGHT  IN  A   GREAT  CITY. 


into  a  fiendish  farce.  I  saw  the  free  lunches. 
But  it  was  a  strange  thing  to  find  the  men  eat- 
ing the  free  lunch,  clothed  in  rags,  and  the  man 
who  owned  the  institution  clothed  in  broadcloth 
and  wearing  his  diamonds.  That  free  lunch  was 
the  introduction  to  his  drink  of  the  lowest 
order — that  drink  cost  the  saloon  keeper  less 
than  one-half  a  cent,  and  the  man  paid  his  five 
cents  for  it.  He  takes  hold  of  that  bait  and 
pays  his  last  cent  into  the  saloon  keeper's  till. 
These  places  where  in  friendship  they  give  away 
so  much  are  the  most  handsomely  decorated  and 
most  beautifully  lighted,  burning  hundreds  of 
electric  lights  in  a  small  room.  In  the  center  of 
a  tenement-house  district,  where  there  has  been 
the  cry  of  starvation  more  than  once  in  recent 
years,  there  is  a  saloon  where  the  floor  is  literally 
paved  with  silver  dollars.  It  is  a  strange  thing 
that  these  men  come  out  of  there,  with  their 
wealth,  and  come  to  be  your  aldermen  and 
officials,  and  the  free  lunch  is  served  out  of  pure 
friendship  and  love  for  humanity.  The  chief 
difficulty  with  the  American  saloon  is  because  it 
is  a  social  institution,  and  because  they  cater  to 
the  social  elements  of  man,  and  through  that 
pathway  of  sociability  they  lead  their  victims. 


THE  CENTER  OF  INIQUITY.  67 

I  saw  three  young  men  walking  along  the 
street,  arm  in  arm.  When  they  came  to  a  cor- 
ner, one  of  them  said  to  the  young  man  in  the 
center,  "  Come  in  and  have  a  drink."  "  No,  no, 
I  don't  want  a  drink  to-night."  They  said, 
"  Come  on;  come,  have  a  drink."  He  said,  "  No, 
I  don't  want  any."  At  last  he  literally  pulled 
himself  away  from  them  and  rushed  on,  getting 
out  of  their  way,  and  they  damned  him  for  not 
accepting  their  friendship.  I  saw  a  business 
man  taken  out  of  his  place  of  business  by  two 
men  dressed  in  the  very  highest  fashion,  one 
holding  on  to  each  one  of  his  arms,  undertaking 
to  force  him  across  the  street  into  one  of  the 
lowest  saloons  of  the  city.  I  followed,  and  I 
heard  him  say,  "No,  no!"  They  said,  "  Yes, 
you  must;"  and  they  literally  compelled  him. 
He  said,  "  I  don't  drink  anything  any  more." 
They  said,  "It  don't  make  any  difference;  you 
have  got  to  drink  something  with  us."  He 
thought  of  the  wife  and  babies  at  home.  With  a 
trembling  voice  he  said,  "  I  have  given  it  up,  T 
don't  drink  any  more."  They  kept  moving  him 
along  until  at  last,  literally  by  force,  and  by 
fiendish  muscle,  they  moved  him  across  the 
threshold  behind  the  doors  to  drink  the  tears  of 


68  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

a  suffering  wife  and  babies  at  home.  That 
satanic  principle  of  treating  in  the  name  of  friend- 
ship is  a  tremendous  power  for  the  ruin  of  men. 
That  young  man  who  asks  another  to  drink  with 
him  is  his  greatest  enemy. 

I  saw  in  these  places  hundreds  of  instances 
where  manhood  was  being  dragged  from  its 
throne  and  some  evidence  given,  in  many  a 
case,  of  noblest  manhood  brought  lower  and 
lower  and  lower,  until  at  last  there  was  complete 
destruction.  We  have  become  almost  tired  of 
statistics  and  we  have  come  into  a  position 
where  we  are  statistically  hardened.  Seventy- 
five  per  cent,  of  the  paupers  are  paupers  because 
of  the  saloons;  twenty-five  per  cent,  of  the 
insane  people  of  this  country  are  insane  because 
of  the  saloons.  The  drink  bill  is  one  thousand 
million  dollars  in  this  country.  It  costs  the 
American  government  to-day  a  hundred  million 
dollars  a  year  to  care  for  these  paupers  and 
insane,  making  a  total  of  eleven  hundred  million 
dollars  a  year  expense  to  this  nation,  and  we  are 
not  startled  by  that  statement.  If  I  could 
furnish  a  lake  in  which  to  hold  all  the  hot, 
scalding  tears  produced  by  the  saloons,  and  then 
provide  a  vast  area  which  should  contain  all  the 


THE  CENTER  OF  INIQUITY.  69 

wreckage  made  by  the  saloons,  and  then  there 
could  sound  some  sort  of  music,  coming  from 
the  diapason  of  the  organ,  to  give  us  that  volume 
which  should  contain  the  cries  and  groans  of 
the  suffering,  and  I  could  march,  in  the  presence 
of  that  scene,  a  line  of  men  which  would  reach 
around  this  entire  globe,  ruined  by  the  saloon, 
and  I  should  say  that  three  hundred  of  those 
men,  every  twenty-four  hours  of  our  history, 
are  dumped  out  of  the  saloons  into  drunkards' 
graves;  if  I  could  bring  before  you  the  scenes 
of  poverty  and  wretchedness  and  suffering  and 
desolation,  rising  up  and  pleading  for  mercy  and 
pleading  for  power  to  destroy  the  saloons  and  all 
their  accessories — then  conscience  might  rise  to 
the  throne  and  heaven  witness  victory  for  suffer- 
ing humanity. 

To  help  in  this  destruction  of  manhood  every 
saloon  in  these  cities  is  day  and  night  a  gam- 
bling den,  and  the  home  of  every  other  force  of 
evil.  On  the  walls  are  all  the  pictures,  impure 
and  pugilistic,  that  can  be  gathered  from  the 
four  quarters  of  the  world,  and  almost  from  hell 
itself — literally  covering  the  ceilings  and  walls, 
telling  of  gambling  and  prize-fighting  and  im- 
purity.   In  connection  with  the  saloon  is  the 


70  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


resort  of  evil  women.  Impurity  is  working 
high-handed,  and  scarcely  a  check  is  being 
placed  upon  it.  In  the  saloons  in  these  great 
cities  thousands  of  these  women  are  making 
their  habitation  and  destroying  all  the  kingship 
that  God  ever  placed  in  man.  The  very  blas- 
phemy of  womanhood  is  that  woman  should 
be  in  a  saloon,  and  women  should  drink,  and 
women  should  gamble. 

I  looked  at  the  head  of  a  barrel  of  rum,  as  it 
lay  in  the  low  saloon,  and  saw  an  angel  writing 
on  it: 

4 '  A  barrel  of  headaches,  of  heartaches,  of  woes  ; 
A  barrel  of  curses,  a  barrel  of  blows  ; 
A  barrel  of  tears  from  a  world-weary  wife  ; 
A  barrel  of  sorrow,  a  barrel  of  strife  ; 
A  barrel  of  all  unavailing  regret ; 
A  barrel  of  cares  and  a  barrel  of  debt  ; 
A  barrel  of  crime  and  a  barrel  of  pain  ; 
A  barrel  of  hope,  ever  blasted  and  vain  ; 
A  barrel  of  falsehood,  a  barrel  of  cries 
That  fall  from  the  maniac's  lips  as  he  dies  ; 
A  barrel  of  agony,  heavy  and  dull  ; 
A  barrel  of  poison — of  this  nearly  full  ; 
A  barrel  of  liquid  damnation  that  fires 
The  brain  of  the  fool  who  believes  it  inspires  ; 
A  barrel  of  poverty,  ruin,  and  blight  ; 
A  barrel  of  terrors  that  grow  with  the  night  ; 
A  barrel  of  hunger,  a  barrel  of  groans  ; 


THE  CENTER  OF  INIQUITY.  71 


A  barrel  of  orphans'  most  pitiful  moans  ; 
A  barrel  of  serpents  that  hiss  as  they  pass 
From  the  bead  on  the  liquor  that  glows  in  the  glass." 

Here  the  very  last  vestige  of  womanhood 
goes,  and  the  last  trace  of  manhood  vanishes. 
Look  at  the  bloated  lips  and  rheum  eyes  and 
scarlet  nose  and  shattered  souls.  I  saw  a  young 
man  coining  out  of  a  saloon  with  a  pair  of  skates 
on  his  arm.  He  had  skates  on  his  feet,  and 
skates  on  his  head,  and  skates  on  his  ears,  and 
skates  all  over.  He  cut  more  curves  than  he 
ever  cut  on  any  ice  in  the  world.  At  last  he 
came  to  a  tremendous  obstacle.  As  he  crossed 
the  street  he  came  up  to  the  curbstone  and 
thought  it  was  a  Rocky  Mountain  range;  and 
then  he  made  a  courageous  effort  to  cross  it,  but 
came  back;  and  then  he  looked  at  his  great 
mountain  range  again,  made  another  effort  and 
back  he  went  again;  and  up  he  came  again,  this 
time  with  a  fearful  plunge,  and  over  it  he  went. 
He  looked  around  at  it  with  more  pride  than 
Napoleon  when  he  crossed  the  Alps,  and  said, 
"  There  shall  be  no  Alps."  Then  a  little  dog 
came  running  along  and  bounded  gracefully 
over  the  great  obstacle.  Which  was  better,  dog 
or  man? 


72  MIDNIGHT  IN  A   GREAT  CITY. 

The  saloon  keeper  makes  the  following  pro- 
posal to  his  Satanic  Majesty: 

"  Dear  Sir:  I  have  opened  apartments,  fitted 
up  with  all  the  enticements  of  luxury,  for  the 
sale  of  Rum,  Brandy,  Gin,  Wine,  Beer,  and  all 
their  compounds.  Our  objects,  though  differ- 
ent, can  be  best  attained  by  united  action.  I 
therefore  propose  a  copartnership.  All  I  want 
of  men  is  their  money.  All  else  shall  be 
yours. 

"  Bring  me  the  industrious,  the  sober,  the  re- 
spectable, and  I  will  return  them  to  you  Drunk- 
ards, Paupers,  and  Beggars. 

"  Bring  me  the  Child,  and  I  will  dash  to  the 
earth  the  dearest  hopes  of  the  father  and 
mother. 

"  Bring  me  the  Father  and  Mother,  and  I  will 
plant  discord  between  them,  and  make  them  a 
curse  and  a  reproach  to  their  children. 

"  Bring  me  the  Young  Man,  and  I  will  ruin  his 
character,  destroy  his  health,  shorten  his  life, 
and  blot  out  the  highest  and  purest  hopes  of 
youth. 

"  Bring  me  the  Mechanic  or  the  Laborer,  and 
his  own  money — the  hard-earned  fruits  of  his 


THE  CENTER  OF  INIQUITY.  73 

toil — shall  be  made  to  plant  poverty,  vice,  and 
ignorance  in  his  once  happy  home. 

"  Bring  me  the  Warm-hearted  Sailor,  and  I 
will  send  him  on  a  lee  shore,  and  make  shipwreck 
of  all  fond  hopes  fqr  evermore. 

"  Bring  me  the  professed  follower  of  Christ, 
and  I  will  blight  and  wither  every  devotional  feel- 
ing of  the  heart.  I  will  corrupt  the  Ministers  of 
religion,  and  defile  the  purity  of  the  Church. 

"  Bring  me  the  patronage  of  the  city  and  of  the 
Courts  of  Justice — let  the  Magistrates  of  the 
State  and  the  Union  become  my  patrons — let 
the  lawmakers  themselves  meet  at  my  table  and 
participate  in  violation  of  law,  and  the  name  of 
law  shall  become  a  hissing  and  a  byword  in  the 
streets. 

"  Bring  me,  above  all,  the  moral,  respectable 
man;  if  possible,  bring  the  moderate  temperance 
man — though  he  may  not  drink,  yet  his  presence 
will  countenance  the  pretexts  under  which  our 
business  must  be  masked.  Bring  him  to  our 
Stores,  Oyster  Saloons,  Eating  Houses,  and 
Hotels,  and  the  more  timid  of  our  victims  will 
then  enter  without  alarm. 

"  Yours  faithfully, 

"  RUMSELLER." 


74  MIDXIGIIT  IN  A   GREAT  CITY. 


Satan  said,  "  I  am  delighted  with  your  propo- 
sition, and  it  shall  be  done  " — and  a  carnival  was 
held  in  the  lower  world. 

I  have  seen  this  great  Juggernaut,  rolling 
through  your  streets,  and  beneath  its  wheels 
were  pale-faced  and  haggard  women,  with 
pinched  babies  in  their  arms  and  the  babies 
crying  for  food  from  starving  breasts,  and 
the  mother  crying  for  mercy.  I  have  seen 
the  mother,  with  tear-stained  face  and  broken 
heart,  dragged  beneath  the  wheels  of  this  mon- 
ster, as  she  fell  on  her  knees  before  it  and  pleaded 
for  deliverance  for  her  boy.  And  I  have  seen 
beautiful  sisters  fastened  to  this  Juggernaut  of 
heathenism  and  dragged  through  the  very  filth 
and  mud  of  the  streets,  because  of  their  relation 
to  drunken  and  ruined  fathers  and  brothers.  I 
have  seen  little  children,  bright-faced  boys  and 
curly-haired  girls — crushed,  literally  crushed, 
beneath  the  wheels  of  that  barbarous  machine, 
I  have  seen  countless  beggared  and  ruined 
men  beneath  the  wheels  of  our  American  Jug- 
gernaut, with  the  last  remnants  of  the  image 
and  likeness  of  God  obliterated,  and  the  last 
atom  of  human  life  destroyed.  I  have  stood 
in  this  blood,  in  the  presence  of  a  regard- 


THE  CENTER  OF  INIQUITY. 


75 


less  world  and  a  rejoicing  hell  and  a  waiting 
heaven,  and  I  declare  that,  as  long  as  Almighty 
God  gives  me  power,  I  shall  use  it  to  strike  a 
death-dealing  blow  against  the  head  of  earth's 
most  cruel  monster — the  damnable  saloon. 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE  HOSPITAL  WARDS. 

As  the  city  grows  in  size,  it  grows  in  danger 
— danger  to  the  moral,  mental,  and  physical  in 
man.  Character  stands  in  greater  peril,  the 
mind  is  less  apt  to  be  developed  rightly,  and  the 
body  is  subject  to  more  of  disease  and  suffering. 
Crowded  in  home  and  strained  in  toil,  living  in 
a  world  of  machinery  and  brick,  instead  of  sun- 
light and  flowers — what  a  vast  amount  of  sick- 
ness and  appalling  numbers  of  accidents  there 
are  in  the  great  cities!  In  their  sky  hangs  a 
black  cloud,  heavy  with  its  thunder  of  accumu- 
lated sigh  and  groan,  and  carrying  a  mighty 
shower  of  tears  to  fall  upon  all  its  stirring  life. 
But  circling  that  cloud  is  the  beautiful  rainbow, 
caused  by  the  shining  of  the  sun  of  righteous- 
ness in  a  world's  sky.  It  is  lined  with  all  the 
colors  of  love  and  sympathy  and  sacrifice  and 
tenderest  care  for  the  suffering  part  of  the  human 
76 


THE  HOSPITAL   WARDS.  77 


family.  What  a  spectacle  would  be  presented 
if  in  one  place  in  the  city  could  be  gathered 
from  street  and  store,  and  factory  and  home,  and 
hospital  and  asylum,  all  the  crippled  and  pain- 
racked  human  forms!  If  the  blind  eyes  and 
deaf  ears,  and  lame  feet,  palsied  hands  and  con- 
torted limb,  and  speechless  lip  and  diseased 
blood,  and  bodies  the  home  of  pain;  if  the  suffer- 
ers from  hereditary  and  accidental  and  self-im- 
posed ailments  all  should  be  gathered  together 
for  human  vision;  could  eye  or  heart  behold  it 
without  a  turning  away  or  the  breaking  of  a 
chord?  Beyond  all  human  comprehension 
would  be  the  immensity  and  the  dreadfulness  of 
such  a  spectacle.  It  is  impossible  to  realize 
what  a  large  proportion  of  the  city  population 
is  subjected  to  the  ravages  of  disease.  Thou- 
sands and  tens  of  thousands  are  wearing 
throughout  the  hours  of  day  and  the  hours 
of  night,  and  the  days  and  nights  of  the  year, 
and  oftentimes  the  years  of  life,  the  shackles  of 
this  mighty  slave-holder.  The  pain  and 
anguish  are  never  silenced  by  all  the  uproar 
and  rumble  and  confusion  of  city  life.  They 
stealthily  glide  through  the  place  of  toil  and  the 
place  of  rest  and  the  place  of  joy,  as  well  as  be- 


73  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


tween  the  cots  of  the  hospital  ward.  They  walk 
unopposed  through  the  very  ranks  of  the 
strongest  guards,  and  no  hand  can  strike  them  or 
foot  run  away  at  the  sound  of  their  voice. 

We  speak  of  the  cyclone  of  the  prairie,  and  the 
flood  of  the  Conemaugh,  and  the  fires  of 
Chicago,  and  the  earthquake  of  Charleston,  but 
seldom  think  of  the  incomprehensible  amount  of 
suffering  and  death  in  the  great  city  every  day, 
beneath  the  cyclone,  and  the  earthquake,  and 
the  fires  and  the  flood  of  ravaging  disease. 
Hundreds  of  blind  in  constant  darkness,  hun- 
dreds of  lame  on  roughest  road,  hundreds  of 
crippled  on  an  unending  stairway,  hundreds  of 
dumb  in  dread  silence,  hundreds  of  deaf  without 
a  musical  note!  Life  is  a  bush  with  thorns  and 
no  roses  for  their  withered  hands.  For  them 
the  pathway  is  mire  out  of  which  no  diamond 
has  yet  been  formed.  But  the  sweetest  sound 
to  drown  this  anguish  of  pain  is  the  word 
Charity;  and  the  brightest  spot  in  all  this  dark 
picture  of  city  life  is  the  place  where  the  hospital 
stands.  It  is  the  saddest  place,  and  yet  the  place 
of  greatest  blessing.  It  was  the  pierced  hands 
that  took  the  trowel  and  with  the  cement  of  love 
laid  the  corner-stone  for  every  one  of  these  insti- 


THE  HOSPITAL  WARDS. 


79 


tutions  of  mercy.  They  are  the  gift  of  Chris- 
tianity to  a  suffering  world. 

An  old  sailor  declared  that  he  had  found 
Christ;  that  he  had  found  him  not  at  first  in 
the  Gospel,  not  in  a  prayer  meeting,  not  at  an 
altar,  not  in  sermon  nor  song,  but  in  the  house 
erected  for  the  shelter  of  shipwrecked  manners 
on  the  coast  of  Cape  Cod.  He  had  been  ship- 
wrecked on  one  of  the  coldest  days  of  winter, 
and,  washed  ashore,  had  found  the  shelter  pro- 
vided by  Christian  people  for  just  such  as  he.  In 
that  exhibition  of  Christianity  he  had  seen  Christ. 
His  idea  was  true  to  fact — every  shelter  for  the 
wrecked  mariner,  every  almshouse  for  the  pov- 
erty-stricken, every  asylum  for  the  distressed, 
every  orphanage  for  the  waif,  every  hospital  for 
the  sufferer,  speaks  in  loudest  tones  of  the  Christ. 
They  are  better  than  an  apology  for  his  gospel, 
even  though  that  apology  falls  from  the  pen  of 
deepest  learning  and  clearest  rhetoric  and  most 
skillful  logic.  I  challenge  the  mouth  of  infi- 
delity to  utter  its  blasphemy  within  their  walls. 
Their  plans  were  made  in  heaven,  and  angels 
are  in  their  wards.  They  might  appropriately 
be  built  in  the  form  of  a  cross,  because  their 
foundations    are    the  stones    from  Calvary's 


8o  MIDNIGHT  IN  A   GREAT  CITY. 


Mountain.  In  the  heart  of  every  passer-by  they 
should  inspire  deepest  gratitude. 

I  have  seen  in  the  hospital  ward,  with  all  its 
pain  and  sorrow,  the  sublimest  illustrations  of 
courage  and  heroism.  We  recall  with  thank- 
fulness and  pride  the  heroism  displayed  on 
many  a  bloody  battlefield  in  the  struggles  of 
this  great  nation.  I  stand  in  the  hospital  ward 
and  recall  the  history  of  a  Bunker  Hill  and  a 
Saratoga.  I  behold  Washington  with  his  heroic 
soul  leading  the  forces  of  the  American  patriots 
on  to  triumph,  even  through  the  ice-barred  Dela- 
ware at  Trenton,  and  on  Long  Island,  and 
around  New  York  Harbor,  and  up  the  Hudson. 
I  think  of  Lincoln's  heroism  in  signing  with  his 
own  blood  the  Emancipation  Proclamation;  and 
Grant  and  Sheridan  and  the  rest  of  the  noble 
catalogue  of  leaders,  carrying  that  crimson  docu- 
ment on  to  its  effect.  I  think  of  the  common 
soldier  behind  the  stone  walls,  and  in  the  wheat- 
fields  of  Gettysburg,  among  the  trees  and 
swamps  of  the  Wilderness,  on  the  bridges  and  in 
the  thunders  of  Antietam,  climbing  over  the 
dead  bodies  of  their  comrades  to  the  top  of 
Lookout  Mountain;  and  I  turn  to  the  cot  upon 
which  lies  a  body  tortured  with  pain  for  weeks 


THE  HOSPITAL    WARDS.  Si 

and  months,  meeting  a  mightier  foe,  and  in  a 
longer  conflict,  with  a  greater  demonstration  of 
unadulterated  heroism. 

When  Satan  failed  to  conquer  Job  by  all 
other  means,  he  touched  his  bone  and  flesh  and 
revealed  that  sickness  was  the  greatest  test. 
Nerves  may  be  shattered  beyond  the  endurance 
of  the  sound  of  a  bird's  note,  and  appetite  may 
loathe  the  most  luxuriant  fruit  and  most  tempt- 
ing viands  and  cause  the  palate  to  turn  in  dis- 
gust from  the  platter.  The  whole  body  may  be 
thrown  into  a  very  blaze  of  fever,  and  the  knife  of 
pain  strike  through  the  side  or  across  the  brow 
or  into  the  heart  itself.  Excruciating  neural- 
gia and  rheumatism  do  their  very  best  to  torture 
in  the  dead  silence  of  the  night,  in  the  dim  light 
of  the  ward,  and  an  unseen  hand  is  tearing  at 
the  muscles  and  rasping  the  nerves.  That  is  an 
infinitely  stronger  trial  of  the  heroic  in  the  soul 
than  the  shot  and  shell  of  the  battlefield. 

I  stood  before  Nathan  Hale's  monument  in 
New  York  city  and  recalled  that  event  of  1776, 
after  the  battle  of  Long  Island  was  fought  with 
such  disastrous  results  to  the  American  arms. 
Washington  had  retreated  across  the  river  to 
Harlem  Heights;  and  General  Howe  with  his 


82  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY, 


twenty-five  thousand  men  occupied  the  hillsides 
above  Brooklyn  and  also  the  city  of  New  York, 
while  a  great  fleet  of  English  warships  lay  at 
anchor  in  the  Harbor.  It  was  necessary  that 
Washington  should  know  the  intentions  of  the 
British  commander.  Upon  this  knowledge  prob- 
ably hung  the  salvation  of  the  American  army. 
Washington  summoned  before  him  a  number  of 
officers,  to  whom  he  revealed  his  plans  and 
asked  if  there  was  one  who  would  volunteer  to 
attempt  the  hazardous  enterprise.  There  was 
silence.  No  one  responded,  until  at  last  a  tall, 
stout  young  man,  with  determination  in  his 
heart,  stepped  forward  and  in  thrilling  tones 
said,  "  I  will  do  it."  I  recalled  that  dangerous 
undertaking,  and  the  opposition  of  his  comrades, 
and  his  most  patriotic  reply.  I  thought  of  his 
going  to  Norfolk,  and  doffing  his  uniform,  and 
donning  that  brown  suit  and  broad-brimmed 
hat;  then  crossing  the  Sound  in  a  sloop,  and 
landing  in  Huntington  Bay,  and  boldly  advanc- 
ing into  the  enemies'  lines.  I  thought  how  he 
successfully  performed  his  errand  and  repassed 
the  lines  in  safety,  with  papers  hidden  between 
his  foot  and  stocking.  But,  while  waiting  for 
a  boat,  he  was  recognized  and  betrayed  and 


THE  HOSPITAL  WARDS. 


8.3 


arrested,  and  brought  before  General  Howe. 
Without  a  denial  from  his  lips,  he  was  sen- 
tenced to  be  hanged  the  next  morning  at  day- 
break. The  rest  of  the  sad  story  came  with 
increasing  vividness  to  my  mind.  Securely 
pinioned,  the  noble  patriot  was  marched  to  the 
place  of  execution,  where  now  his  monument 
stands,  and  there,  as  the  light  came  on  that 
early  autumn  morning,  he  stood  with  white  cap 
drawn  down  over  his  head,  the  noose  around 
his  neck,  and  a  rough  pine-board  box  for  a 
coffin  in  front  of  him.  I  stood  on  that  sacred 
spot  and  read  those  last  words  now  carved  in 
the  granite,  "  I  wish  I  had  more  lives  to  give  for 
my  country."  I  would  not  take  one  atom  of 
glory  from  such  a  royal  brow  as  that.  No,  I 
would  place  another  laurel  leaf  in  that  never- 
dying  wreath,  if  I  could. 

But  I  stood  in  another  place  recently  and  saw 
heroism  as  great  as  that,  in  the  hospital  ward, 
by  the  cot  of  a  little  six-year-old  sufferer. 
Every  moment  of  his  short  life  had  been  a 
moment  of  pain;  every  breath  had  carried  a  sigh, 
and  he  was  now  waiting  for  the  small  remnant 
of  life  to  vanish.  Kis  pinched  features  told  the 
most  beautiful  story  of  courage  I  had  ever 


84  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

known.  Not  a  sound  of  weakness  had  ever  been 
heard  from  that  weakened  little  frame.  He  has 
stood  for  those  six  years,  and  the  only  six  years 
of  his  life,  without  friend  and  alone,  in  that 
awful  fight  with  disease.  He  held  his  teeth 
firmly  set,  and  his  shriveled  hands  firmly 
clinched  in  face  of  that  giant-like  enemy.  Every 
move  as  well  as  word  evidenced  his  magnificent 
courage.  Give  Nathan  Hale  his  monument,  but 
there  will  be  a  monument  somewhere  to  the 
eternal  memory  of  that  splendid  hero  of  the 
hospital  ward. 

I  have  seen  in  the  hospitals,  in  the  presence  of 
this  heartrending  suffering,  some  of  the  most 
beautiful  and  fragrant  flowers  that  have  ever 
blossomed  upon  earth.  No  human  hand  ever 
placed  them  at  the  side  of  the  cot,  because  they 
are  seen  oftentimes  where  love  had  never  placed 
earth's  flowers.  They  were  flowers  plucked  by 
angel  hands  in  the  gardens  of  the  upper  world, 
dipped  in  the  stream  which  flows  under  the 
throne — fresh,  and  fragrant,  and  heavenly.  I 
mean  the  flowers  of  patience,  so  rarely  seen  in 
the  world,  are  seen  in  such  beauty  in  the  ward. 
A  four-year-old  boy,  with  his  little  limbs  twisted 
into  inhuman  shape,  was  trying  to  help  himself, 


THE  HOSPITAL   WARDS.  85 

but  could  not  make  any  progress.  I  watched 
him  in  his  struggle,  and  saw  him  better  through 
a  tear.  He  made  hardest  effort  to  move  and 
continued  his  repeated  attempts  in  agony,  but 
was  fastened  to  one  place  with  the  heaviest 
shackles  that  could  rest  upon  human  form.  In 
his  face  were  the  clearest  marks  of  a  Christ-like 
patience  that  my  eyes  had  ever  seen.  Under- 
stand it  if  you  can,  but  his  vain  struggles  to 
move  were  beautiful.  I  will  explain  it.  The 
beauty  was  in  the  effect.  His  crippled  body 
was  like  the  thorny  stems  of  the  bush  on  which 
blossomed  the  richest  and  sweetest  flowers  of 
patience.  I  had  seen  another  boy  just  his  age, 
the  picture  of  robust  health,  not  a  blemish  mark 
upon  his  body,  and  the  meanest  specimen  of 
childhood  I  could  recall — most  impatient,  most 
unloving,  most  unkind.  In  his  unbounded  rest- 
lessness and  unrestrained  temper  he  was  ruin- 
ing his  home,  destroying  all  its  happiness, 
covering  mother's  brow  with  care  and  loading 
father's  heart  with  burdens;  the  most  distinct 
prophecy  of  a  ruined  life  and  a  blasted  eternity. 
I  declared  then,  and  I  declare  now,  that  my 
holiest  prayer  would  ask  that  my  boy  be  the  one 
in  the  hospital  ward  rather  than  the  one  of  per- 


86  MIDNIGHT  IN  A   GREAT  CITY. 


feet  health.  A  thousand-fold  better  to  be 
crippled  in  body  than  crippled  in  soul.  Better 
to  have  twisted  limbs  and  a  beautiful  spirit  than 
health  without  the  touch  of  patience.  The 
flower  of  patience  is  so  seldom  seen  in  this  world 
that  we  must  rejoice  in  that  part  of  the  hospital 
production.  The  business  world,  and  the  home 
world,  and  the  professional  world,  and  even  a 
part  of  the  church  world,  are  the  scene  of  ex- 
treme restlessness  and  discontent  and  selfish 
struggle  and  extreme  impatience.  But  in  the 
very  midst  of  suffering  have  often  blossomed  the 
rarest  flowers. 

Genius  has  ever  had  to  be  crucified  before  it 
could  rise  from  the  dead.  Pascal  must  suffer 
deeply  before  he  could  write  sweetly  and  sympa- 
thetically. Milton  must  drink  of  that  same  cup 
for  four-and-sixty  years  before  he  could  sing  of 
Paradise.  Carlyle  must  know  the  meaning  of 
pain  before  the  literary  world  knew  him.  Jean 
Paul  must  live  in  the  very  cage  of  the  bird  about 
which  he  sings  before  he  could  sing  sweetly. 
Robert  Hall  must  be  crippled  with  spinal  disease 
before  the  world  thrilled  with  his  matchless  elo- 
quence. There  are  the  traces  of  tears  and 
sighs  on  every  great  page.    A  tear  is  a  strange 


THE  HOSPITAL  WARDS. 


87 


chisel  or  brush,  but  its  art  has  shaped  the 
finest  statue  and  left  its  lines  upon  the  grandest 
canvas.  The  fires  make  sapphires,  rubies,  and 
diamonds  out  of  common  clay.  The  crown  of 
thorns  is  before  the  diadem;  the  mocking  reed 
before  the  scepter;  the  polluted  purple  before  the 
royal  robes  of  glory.  The  spit  of  scorn  is  be- 
fore the  bending  knee  of  obeisance;  the  cross 
before  the  throne;  a  Calvary  before  a  Heaven. 
I  have  seen  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow  in  a 
single  tear, 

"  The  mightiest  tone  that  music  knows, 

But  breaks  the  heart's-string  with  the  sound, 
And  genius  still,  the  more  it  flows, 
But  wastes  the  lamp  whose  life  bestows 
The  light  it  sheds  around." 

The  dull,  leaden  clouds  of  pain  and  the  chilly 
rains  of  sorrow  are  at  last  transformed  into 
golden  mountains  and  into  mists  of  fire,  and 
every  water-line  of  tears  becomes  an  effulgent 
thread  connecting  earth  and  heaven. 

I  sat  by  the  side  of  a  cot  in  the  hospital  ward. 
She  who  occupied  it  had  started  life  with  bright- 
est hope  and  best  of  health.  She  had  grown 
into  young  womanhood,  when  suddenly  the 
knife  of  disease  had  been  thrust  into  her  perfect 


88  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

form  and  crippled  her  hip  and  spine  until  she 
was  fast  becoming  helpless  and  shapeless.  I 
told  her  of  the  great  Sufferer  and  His  sublime 
patience,  and  that  in  His  footsteps  she  would  at 
last  reach  the  gates  of  pearl  and  enter  that  better 
city  where  there  would  be  no  hospitals,  no  days 
of  suffering,  and  no  long  nights  of  wakefulness, 
and  no  sorrow  because  of  a  crippled  body.  There 
every  tear  would  at  last  become  a  jewel,  and  a 
cold,  friendless  world  would  for  her  become 
a  heaven.  With  a  sweet,  submissive  expres- 
sion she  turned  her  eyes  to  the  western  sky 
and  the  glory  of  the  setting  sun.  She  thought 
that  was  the  gateway,  and  her  face  lighted  up,  and 
her  heart  said,  "  I'll  wait  and  her  eyes  saw  the 
beauties  and  the  perfection  and  the  health 
and  the  happiness  of  that  other  world.  She 
said,  "Who  are  those  in  white  robes?"  And 
an  angel  said,  "  Those  are  they  who  suf- 
fered patiently  on  earth,  and  have  washed  their 
robes  and  made  them  white  in  the  blood  of  the 
Lamb."  And  I  saw  the  very  sunset  of  glory 
and  peace  in  her  face,  and  the  light  of  the 
eternal  throne  on  her  brow,  and  her  head  resting 
on  the  downy  pillow  of  divine  promise,  "  The 
eternal  God  is  thy  refuge,  and  underneath  are  the 
everlasting  arms." 


THE  HOSPITAL  WARDS. 


89 


I  have  seen  in  these  wards  the  banishing  of 
pain  by  love's  tender  touch.  Splendid  skill  from 
the  greatest  physician  is  not  sufficient.  The 
best  doctor  has  been  a  learner  in  the  school  of 
the  Great  Physician,  who,  when  upon  earth, 
with  tenderest  love  and  divinest  sympathy 
clothed  even  the  madman  after  he  had  torn  off 
his  garments,  and  turned  the  scabs  of  leprosy 
into  fairest  complexion,  and  swung  wide  open 
the  windows  of  blindness,  and  opened  the 
fountains  of  blood  for  palsied  limbs,  and  straight- 
ened out  rheumatic  forms  into  those  of  grace 
and  comfort. 

Some  additional  darkness  is  thrown  around 
the  hospital  ward  by  the  presence  of  dis- 
crimination. There  is  oftentimes  an  unjust 
discrimination  witnessed,  which  is  worthy  of  the 
most  extreme  condemnation  on  earth  as  well 
as  before  the  eternal  throne.  The  poor  some- 
times suffer  doubly.  They  can  stand  the  absence 
of  flowers  and  fruit,  but  in  their  humanity  they 
cannot  endure  the  absence  of  sympathy  and  the 
presence  of  a  hard-hearted  carelessness  and  in- 
human treatment.  Their  bodies  are  just  as 
tender  as  those  which  lie  on  the  palace  couch. 
Their  nerves  are  just  as  sensitive  and  their  hearts 


9°  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

are  as  easily  broken.  Shame!  shame!  when- 
ever the  cruel  hand  instead  of  the  hand  of  love 
rests  upon  their  pain-racked  body.  But  many  of 
the  most  self-sacrificing  and  humanity-loving 
of  earth  are  found  among  physicians  and  nurses 
of  the  hospital  and  the  sick  room.  Some  of 
these  nurses  appear  angelic  as  they  move  in 
love's  pathway  around  the  cots,  and  tenderly 
place  their  hands  on  the  fevered  brows,  and 
sweetly  whisper  the  comforting  word  and  skill- 
fully administer  the  healing  medicine. 

There  are  more  Florence  Nightingales  than 
one.  Wounded  soldiers  kissed  her  shadow  as 
it  fell  on  the  hospital  wall.  Other  shadows  have 
been  kissed  and  other  heads  shall  be  crowned 
for  like  service.  If  there  is  any  place  on  earth 
which  is  standing  as  a  supreme  witness  to 
woman's  power  of  pre-eminence  over  man, 
it  is  within  the  walls  of  the  hospital.  Walter 
Scott's  lines  are  not  all  satire: 

"  Oh,  woman,  in  our  hour  of  ease 
Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please  ; 
When  pain  and  anguish  wring  the  brow 
A  ministering  angel,  thou." 

Men  fought  the  battles  of  the  field,  but  woman 
fought  those  of  the  hospital.    It  was  her  hand 


THE  HOSPITAL    WARDS.  91 

which  administered  the  cordial,  and  watched  the 
dying  couch,  and  touched  the  hot  cheek,  and 
wrote  the  last  message  home.  Tens  of  thou- 
sands of  the  wounded  were  made  better,  or  to  die 
easier,  by  her  power.  Man's  rough  hand  and 
heavy  foot  and  impatient  bearing  are  out  of  place 
here.  She  seems  to  have  the  superlative  right 
of  comforting  the  sick. 

But  I  have  witnessed  in  the  hospital  ward 
another  loving  attendant.  I  looked  into  the 
children's  ward  and,  in  the  presence  of  the  little 
ones  fighting  pain  and  death,  I  saw  Him  and 
heard  Him  say,  "  Suffer  the  children  to  come 
unto  me,"  and  then  it  seemed  He  took  them  in 
His  arms  and  blessed  them.  His  divine  sympa- 
thy was  at  the  side  of  every  one  of  those  little 
cots,  and  when  I  went  into  the  next  ward  He 
was  there.  He  moved  from  one  to  the  other 
without  distinction,  and  touched  them  with  His 
finger  of  love  and  power  just  as  He  did  when 
upon  earth  in  human  form.  As  I  stood  at  the 
doorway  of  the  next  ward  I  saw  Him  again  on 
the  same  errand  of  mercy,  and  heard  Him  say 
distinctly  again,  "  Thy  sins  be  forgiven  thee." 

There  is  another  frequent  visitor  in  these  city 
hospitals — the  black  phantom  of  Death.  Oh, 


9  2 


MIDXIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


how  often  he  moves  with  his  dread  step,  abso- 
lutely unhindered,  through  every  hallway  and 
into  every  room  and  ward.  The  old  Duke  of 
Northumberland,  when  he  was  dying,  called  for 
his  armor.  It  was  given  him,  and  in  his  weak- 
ness he  raised  himself  from  his  bed,  and  the 
hard  steel  clasps  were  fastened  about  him,  and 
as  the  sweat  of  extreme  weakness  came  out  on 
his  brow,  he  asked  for  his  lance,  which  had  car- 
ried his  colors  in  triumph  on  many  a  battle- 
field. It  was  placed  in  his  hand,  and  the  valiant 
old  warrior  faced  the  last  enemy  with  lance 
at  rest.  Death  simply  mocked  at  his  armor 
and  his  spear.  It  was  a  poor  act  with  which  to 
close  the  tragedy  of  life. 

How  much  grander  that  scene  in  the  hospital 
when  noble  Tucker,  my  fellow-laborer  in  the 
work  of  the  Church,  was  facing  death!  Oh,  how 
we  loved  him,  and  what  splendid  promise  was 
in  his  life!  He  lay  submissive  beneath  the  sur- 
geon's knife,  and  came  from  the  operation  like 
a  hero  in  triumph;  but,  alas!  alas!  to  discover 
a  more  serious  danger.  The  physicians  fought 
death  for  him,  and  he  fought  like  the  bravest  for 
himself.  And  when  we  told  him  that  he  must 
die  he  said,  without  a  tremor  in  his  voice  or  his 


THE  HOSPITAL  WARDS. 


93 


body,  "  Well,  if  I  must,  I  wish  to  leave  a  message 
or  two  of  love."  And  as  calm  as  an  angel  in 
heaven,  he  waited  on  earth  for  the  final  summons, 
and  when  he  passed  into  his  delirium,  he  thought 
he  saw  an  opening  through  which  he  wanted  to 
pass,  but  in  his  anxiety  to  go  he  was  hindered. 
He  tried  to  move  toward  it,  and  I  know  that 
that  opening  was  the  gates  of  pearl.  At  last  his 
old  father,  with  tear-stained  face  and  broken 
heart,  leaned  over  his  only  boy  and  said  lovingly, 
"  Frank,  you  can  go,  you  can  go."  And  he  said, 
with  the  look  of  rest  and  satisfaction,  "All  right, 
father!"  He  fell  back  on  his  pillow  and  fell 
back  into  the  arms  of  Christ,  and  was  gone. 
When  I  recall  that  hospital  scene,  and  that 
eternal  triumph,  and  the  enthroned  Tucker,  I 
share  the  angelic  chorus  and  shout,  "Hallelujah! 
hallelujah!" 


CHAPTER  VI. 


THE    SHADOWS    FROM    THE  FOOTLIGHTS. 

"As  the  crackling  of  thorns  under  a  pot,  so 
is  the  laughter  of  the  fool."  That  philosophy  of 
amusement  is  divine.  A  snapping  and  crack- 
ling without  any  heat  or  blaze,  and  the  food  un- 
cooked and  the  life  unfed!  God  made  every 
human  being  with  the  desire  for  amusement,  and 
the  capacity  for  enjoyment.  He  placed  within 
the  structure  of  every  man  a  laughing  machine, 
and  it  is  sin  to  allow  it  ever  to  become  rusty 
by  disuse.  Some  people  seem  to  have  been 
made  according  to  contract,  but  their  shriveled 
forms  and  sour  features  are  the  abuse  of  Heaven's 
handiwork.  A  hearty  laugh,  coming  from  a 
robust,  happy  soul,  is  a  part  of  the  sweetest  music 
of  earth.  A  heart's  joy,  running  over  upon  the 
face,  is  a  part  of  earth's  beauty.  Innocent 
pleasure  is  a  foretaste  of  the  upper  world. 
Angels  rejoice  in  seeing  every  man,  woman,  and 

94 


THE  SHADOWS  FROM  THE  FOOTLIGHTS.  95 


child  have  the  best  time  the  world  can  give. 
Some  of  the  brightest  men  of  earth  never  left 
their  boyhood  sports.  Martin  Luther  in  old 
life  romped  and  played  with  children,  as  one  of 
them;  and  the  immortal  Chalmers  found  his 
greatest  delight  in  the  amusement  of  his  early 
days.  The  noblest  men  can  laugh  the  heartiest 
and  enjoy  themselves  the  most.  There  are 
some  people  so  small  and  so  dry  that  you  could 
soak  them  in  a  joke  for  a  month,  and  then  they 
would  be  as  dry  as  a  Canada  thistle  in  a  drouth, 
and  as  mean  as  the  thistle  after  lying  in  the 
scorching  sun  for  that  thirty  days.  Heaven 
wants  every  man  to  have  the  most  joy  of  earth — 
but  that  is  only  secured  along  right  lines. 
"  God  made  man  upright,  but  he  hath  sought 
out  many  inventions,"  and  it  is  these  inventions 
which  make  the  crackling  thorns  under  the  pot. 

Disparage  no  innocent  amusements;  rather 
rejoice  in  their  existence  and  their  blessing.  I 
would  not  even  make  a  wholesale  denunciation 
of  modern  theaters,  but  whatever  destroys  life, 
instead  of  saving  it,  carries  its  own  condemnation 
in  its  heart.  That  which  lowers  life,  instead  of 
elevating  it,  cannot  pass  the  courts  of  conscience 
and  reason  without  indictment.    For  the  pur- 


96  MID XI GUT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

pose  of  investigation  I  have  been  in  the  lowest 
theaters  in  the  world,  and  went  from  them  to  the 
very  highest.  And  much  that  can  be  said  about 
the  one  ought  to  be  said,  in  justice  and  in  the 
interests  of  humanity  and  civilization,  about  the 
other.  Principles  of  righteousness  which  have 
been  murdered  in  the  Bowery  playhouses  have 
received  their  deathblow  also  in  the  theaters  of 
Fifth  Avenue.  In  every  constitution  is  the  love 
for  the  dramatic,  and  it  is  cruel  to  forbid  its 
satisfaction,  but  the  modern  places  of  amuse- 
ment are  guilty  of  that  crime.  They  say  to  the 
pure  heart,  "Stand  back!  stand  back!  If  you 
see  us,  you  cannot  see  God!"  Most  of  these 
places  are  now  the  very  haunts  of  iniquity  in 
our  great  cities.  One  of  the  greatest  needs  of 
this  hour  is  to  urge  upon  young  manhood  and 
womanhood  that  they,  for  their  own  sake  and  the 
sake  of  earth  and  heaven,  use  a  righteous  dis- 
crimination. This  is  one  of  the  most  vital  sub- 
jects touching  the  morality  of  the  city. 

The  theater  is  the  first  power  that  enters 
young  life  in  the  great  city,  eitner  of  life  born 
there  or  of  new  blood  flowing  into  the  city  from 
the  country.  The  city  has  created  the  theater. 
The  loneliness  and  gloom  of  its  life  make  an 


THE  SHADOWS  FROM  THE  FOOTLIGHTS.  97 


inevitable  reaction.  There  is  a  tremendous  need 
of  relaxation,  for  the  work  and  burden  of  toil. 
The  theater  is  created  by  this  increased  demand 
in  the  great  civic  centers.  It  is  the  first  to 
touch  character.  It  sweeps  with  unhindered 
power  the  young  men  and  women  upon  its 
swift-flowing  current.  Charles  Lamb  once 
wrote  a  play  for  the  stage  and  went  to  see 
it  enacted.  The  loudest  hissing  came  from  the 
gallery  where  Lamb  sat;  the  author  was  hiss- 
ing his  own  production,  he  was  his  own 
severest  critic.  So  every  man  in  the  throne 
room  of  his  own  conscience  is  the  severest 
critic  of  the  places  he  frequents.  The  best 
that  can  be  said  to-day  must  be  the  advice  to 
discriminate  wisely  and  conscientiously. 

I  have  seen  with  my  own  eyes,  and  I  carry  the 
statements  of  some  of  the  greatest  managers, 
critics,  and  actors  in  the  world.  The  conviction 
of  my  own  heart  and  the  sentiments  of  their  lips 
are  in  perfect  harmony.  Eyes  ought  to  be  wide 
open  and  consciences  very  tender  in  view  of  the 
undisputed  facts.  There  may  be  exceptions, 
and  discrimination  may  keep  from  sin,  but  most 
of  the  footlights  cause  the  blackest  shadows  to- 
day— the  shadow  of  wasted  money;  the  giving 


9§  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

of  the  last  farthing,  with  no  return,  only  evil. 
I  have  seen  men,  women,  boys,  and  girls,  in  a 
line  more  than  one  hundred  feet  in  length,  wait- 
ing to  pass  before  the  ticket  window  and  pur- 
chase tickets  to  enter  one  of  the  vilest  shows  that 
was  ever  advertised  on  the  boards.  As  I  stood 
and  watched  those  men,  women,  and  children,  I 
saw  hunger  in  some  of  their  faces,  and  faded 
shawls  upon  their  backs,  and  no  overcoats 
around  their  shivering  bodies,  on  that  bitter  win- 
ter's day.  They  came  out  of  the  tenements  and 
out  of  the  poorest  homes  in  the  city,  taking  the 
last  farthing  to  go  into  a  place  which  was  to  in- 
jure them  instead  of  help  them.  I  have  seen  in 
the  places  of  the  exhibitions  of  impurity  hundreds 
and  almost  thousands  of  men,  and  only  one  stray 
woman.  I  wondered  how  she  strayed  in  there. 
In  the  vast  number  of  men  and  boys,  most 
of  them  boys,  scarcely  an  overcoat  could  be 
seen.  They  were  evidently  spending  their  last 
cent  to  witness  that  which  would  make  the  very 
devils  themselves  blush,  if  they  came  up  from  the 
lower  world.  Nothing  else  was  to  be  seen  for 
the  length  of  three  hours,  nothing  but  the 
demonstration  of  impurity  before  lustful  eyes; 


THE  SHADOWS  FROM  THE  FOOTLIGHTS.  99 


nothing  but  immodesty  and  the  loss  of  the  deli- 
cacy of  womanhood.  Their  last  money  had 
been  paid  for  that  which  was  the  poorest  invest- 
ment a  mortal  could  make  in  this  world.  How 
many  million  dollars  annually  pass  out  of  the 
hands  of  the  people,  mostly  out  of  the  hands  of 
the  working  people,  into  the  hands  of  all  the 
theaters  in  this  land  of  ours?  How  many  do 
you  suppose?    Almost  uncounted  millions. 

There  is  constantly  going  out  from  the 
pockets  of  the  people  a  stream  of  their  earnings, 
into  the  low  playhouse,  which  ought  to  go  for 
bread  for  the  hungry  children  and  clothes  for 
their  thinly  and  poorly  clad  forms.  It  ought  to 
go  out  in  a  far  different  direction — but  goes  into 
the  treasury  of  some  of  the  lowest  theaters  in 
the  city.  From  the  hands  of  the  rich  also  is 
passing  every  day  and  night  a  vast  amount  of 
money  for  their  own  destruction,  and  is  making 
for  them  an  investment  from  which  they  shall 
hear  before  the  Judgment  Throne  of  God — con- 
demnation instead  of  praise.  They  are  spend- 
ing money  that  ought  to  come  from  willing 
hands  for  the  relief  of  the  shivering  and  starving. 
I  say,  then,  that  one  of  the  thorns  crackling 


ioo        MIDNIGHT  IAr  A  GREAT  CITY. 

under  the  pot  which  create  the  fool's  laughter 
is  the  thorn  of  the  poorest  investment — damn- 
ing instead  of  saving. 

Dramatic  performances  are  not  in  them- 
selves harmful.  They  have  been  given  by 
transcendent  genius.  There  are  possibilities  of 
high  things  in  the  theater;  so  much  more  hor- 
rible is  the  utter  prostitution  of  all  its  wonder- 
ful capacities.  Most  of  them  to-day  are  of  the 
devil;  they  exist  only  because  men  will  always 
ruin  their  fellow-man  for  money.  They  are  bad, 
bad,  and  only  bad,  and  the  result  of  all  this  evil 
at  work  is  startling  and  beyond  comprehension. 
Even  the  blood-and-thunder  plays  of  which  there 
are  so  many,  and  for  which  the  demand  is  in- 
creasing, are  like  a  fiery  intoxicant  which 
inflames  and  frenzies.  Audiences  are  ravished 
and  shocked  and  overwhelmed  by  the  doing  of 
the  stage  carpenter  more  than  the  actors.  It  is 
for  this  midnight  strain  on  the  nervous  system 
that  men  and  women  pay  their  last  money. 

Another  shadow  from  the  footlights  is  the 
murder  of  virtue.  The  modern  theater  may  be 
many  other  things.  It  may  claim  art,  oratory, 
and  grace,  but  whatever  else  its  claims,  it  is  not 
a  school  of  virtue.    You  need  not  go;  I  need 


THE  SHADOWS  FROM  THE  FOOTLIGHTS.  ioi 


not  have  gone.  Just  walk  along  any  one  of 
the  streets  and  witness  the  pictures  on  the 
boards.  What  are  they?  Unless  they  are  pic- 
tures of  semi-nude  women  the  theaters  fail.  No 
manager  would  dare  announce  that  his  plays 
are  in  the  interests  of  righteousness.  One  of 
the  greatest  actors  said  he  would  reform  the 
New  York  city  theaters,  and  have  one  pure 
theater  in  that  great  city.  What  was  the  result? 
He  failed  absolutely,  and  his  theater  did  not 
bring  five  cents  on  the  dollar.  London's  great 
actor  tried  the  same  thing,  and  said  he  would 
purify  the  theater.  But  he  too  signally  failed, 
and  the  manager  had  to  put  impurity  before  the 
footlights  in  order  to  regain  the  loss  he  had  sus- 
tained. The  greatest  actors  themselves  testify 
that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  point  the  finger  to 
any  young  woman  who  goes  on  the  stage  for  a 
life  occupation,  who  remains  pure.  I  do  not  say 
all.  It  is  possible  to  remain  pure.  It  may  be 
possible  to  remain  Christian. 

Dumas,  the  French  novelist,  in  answer  to  some 
critic,  said,  "  You  are  right  not  to  take  your 
daughter  to  see  my  play,  but  you  should  not 
take  her  to  see  the  theater  at  all.  The  theater, 
being  a  picture  or  satire  of  social  manners,  must 


102         MIDNIGHT  IN  A   GREAT  CITY. 

ever  be  immoral,  the  social  manners  being  them- 
selves immoral."  A  theatrical  manager  was 
accused  of  putting  on  the  boards  things  which 
young  people  should  not  see.  He  replied,  "  Cer- 
tainly we  play  for  men  and  women;  we  repre- 
sent the  world  as  it  is;  it  is  not  fit  for  the  young." 
Rousseau  said,  "  I  observe  in  general  that  actors 
are  men  of  bad  morals  and  given  to  low  prac- 
tices, and  actresses  lead  a  loose  life." 

Not  long  ago  Mr.  Clement  Scott,  a  leading 
theatrical  critic  of  London,  was  asked  to  give  to 
the  public  his  matured  views  of  the  stage  as  a 
place  for  a  pure-minded  girl  to  seek  a  livelihood 
and  to  pursue  dramatic  art.  His  answer  was,  "  A 
woman  may  take  a  header  in  a  whirlpool,  and 
be  miraculously  saved — but  then  she  may  be 
drowned.  If  a  girl  knows  how  to  take  care  of 
herself,  she  can  go  anywhere;  but  I  should  be 
sorry  to  expose  modesty  to  the  shock  of  that 
worst  kind  of  temptation,  a  frivolous  disregard 
of  womanly  purity.  One  out  of  a  hundred  may 
be  safe;  but  then  she  may  hear  things  that  she 
had  better  not  listen  to,  and  witness  things  she 
had  better  not  see.  In  every  class  of  life  women 
are  exposed  to  danger  and  temptations,  but  far 
more  in  the  theater  than  elsewhere.    All  honor 


THE  SHADOWS  FROM  THE  FOOTLIGHTS.  103 


and  praise  to  them  when  they  brave  them  out." 
Garrick  boasted  that  he  so  entered  into  the  vile 
character  he  assumed,  as  to  feel  that  it  was  he 
himself.  Dr.  Johnson  said,  "  If  you  really  feel 
such  a  monster,  you  ought  to  be  hanged  every 
time  you  perform  it." 

Mrs.  Siddons,  who  was  a  great  actress,  when 
her  sister  married  a  respectable  man  though 
poor,  said,  "Thank  God,  she  is  off  the  stage!" 

Mary  Anderson  said,  "  She  did  not  want  her 
friends  or  children  or  anybody  to  patronize  the 
stage."  Of  one  of  the  highest  class  the  Press 
critic  says,  "  The  prevailing  affection  of  the 
heroine  of  the  play  is  '  her  fleshly  love — a 
fleshliness  that  Mme.  Bernhardt  in  some  ineffa- 
ble way  exalts.'  What  a  help  to  a  pure-minded 
young  girl  it  must  be  to  have  gross  '  fleshly 
love '  exalted  in  some  ineffable  way  before  her 
observant  eyes."  The  manner  in  which  Mme. 
Bernhardt's  acting  of  Sardou's  play  impressed 
itself  for  the  evening  upon  different  classes  of 
persons  is  indicated  by  the  report  of  comments 
heard  at  the  close  of  the  remarkable  perform- 
ance :  "  Zounds,  but  that  is  a  devilish  sort  of  a 
play!  It  leaves  a  bad  taste  in  one's  mouth.  She 
is  a  wonder,  though,"  he  muttered  as  he  strode 


104        MIDNIGHT  IAr  A  GREAT  CITY. 

off  to  his  club,  to  get  something  to  restore  his 
equilibrium.  "  Oh,  dear,  wasn't  it  lovely!  "  said 
a  young  bud,  as  she  sank  back  into  her  carriage, 
and  the  coachman  cracked  his  whip. 

Professor  Morley  says  that  almost  all  the  plays 
represented  in  London  are  translations  from  the 
French,  and  that  this  ought  not  to  be  done  is 
very  obvious.  A  critic  in  a  secular  paper  says: 
"  The  plays  frequently  offered  are  thoroughly 
Parisian,  with  personages  so  objectionable  and 
incidents  so  gross,  that  it  excites  surprise  that 
they  have  escaped  the  censure  of  the  Lord 
Chamberlain.  One  scene  for  suggestiveness 
was  the  worst  I  ever  saw.  The  curtain  falls, 
leaving  us  to  infer  that  the  willful  violation  of 
the  Seventh  Commandment  is  sufficent  ground 
for  thorough-paced  comedy." 

Mr.  Burnand,  a  great  play-writer,  in  the 
Fortnightly  says:  "It  is  simply  impossible  for 
a  girl  to  enter  the  theater  and  prepare  to  be 
an  actress  without  all  her  moral  senses  being 
shocked  at  once,  and  if  afterward  she  feels 
more  easy  about  it,  it  simply  proves  her 
deterioration." 

Palmer    affirmed:  "The    chief    themes  of 


THE  SHADOWS  FROM  THE  FOOTLIGHTS.  105 


the  theater  are  now,  as  they  have  ever 
been,  the  passions  of  men:  ambition  leading  to 
murder;  jealousy  leading  to  murder;  lust  lead- 
ing to  adultery  and  to  death;  anger  leading  to 
madness."  And  in  explanation  of  this  fact,  Mr. 
Winter  added :  "  Christian  ethics  on  the  stage 
would  be  inappropriate  as  Mr.  Owen's  Solon 
Shingle  in  the  pulpit.  The  worst  mistake  ever 
made  by  the  stage,  and  the  most  offensive  atti- 
tude ever  assumed  by  it,  are  seen  when — as  in 
'  Camille,'  and  two  or  three  similar  plays — it  tries 
to  deal  with  what  is  really  the  function  of  the 
Church — the  consequences  of  sin  in  the  human 
soul.  It  here  makes  a  disastrous  and  mourn- 
ful failure." 

A  distinguished  dramatic  critic  said  a  few  days 
ago  that,  in  his  opinion,  the  average  productions 
of  the  last  ten  years  have  been  baser  than  in  any 
ten  previous  years  in  the  history  of  the  American 
stage.  An  American  writer  in  the  The  Con- 
temporary Review,  speaking  of  the  New  York 
theaters,  says,  "A  friend  of  mine,  who  made  a 
tour  of  them  all,  was  inclined  to  think  that  those 
patronized  by  the  roughs  in  the  Bowery  were 
less  immoral  than  those  patronized  by  the  resi- 


106        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


dents  of  Fifth  Avenue.  It  is  a  matter  of  dispute 
whether  they  honestly  enjoy  good  musie  as 
much  as  they  enjoy  immoral  plays." 

W  hat  is  necessary  in  order  to  make  a  star 
actor  to-day?  Some  scandal  arises  in  a  woman's 
life,  and  then  she  immediately  takes  to  the  stage 
and  plays  her  part.  As  the  chief  attraction 
notorious  prize-fighters,  whether  triumphant  or 
defeated  in  their  brutality,  go  on  the  stage.  If 
one  keeps  the  lowest  saloon  on  the  Bowery,  he 
is  by  that  kind  of  life  adapted  to  appear  on  the 
stage,  and  have  the  largest  posters  and  the  larg- 
est crowd.  Notoriously  bad,  he  then  becomes 
a  noted  actor.  The  very  theaters  to-day  which 
are  making  the  most  money  are  equipped  with 
that  kind  of  actors.  The  only  preparation  neces- 
sary to-day  is  to  be  brute  enough  to  fight,  or  im- 
pure enough  to  lose  all  self-respect.  What  is 
one  of  the  principal  attractions  of  the  theater  to- 
day? Is  it  not  women  scantily  dressed,  or 
dressed  so  as  to  represent  nudity?  Are  not 
women  presented  in  men's  attire,  and  men  in 
women's  attire,  and  is  not  that  calculated  to 
unsex  the  individual  so  acting? 

In  every  one  of  the  theaters,  from  the  lowest 
up  to  the  highest,  it  is  not  a  success  to-day 


THE  SHADOWS  FROM  THE  FOOTLIGHTS.  107 

unless  there  is  the  ballet;  unless  it  is  a  serpentine 
dance — and  it  is  a  serpent,  the  devil  himself. 
The  dance  is  damning  the  play  of  the  theaters; 
in  season  and  out  of  season,  it  is  the  chief  attrac- 
tion. The  dance  is  only  an  excuse  for  the 
exhibition  of  nudity.  If  the  posters  and  adver- 
tisements do  not  reveal  this,  the  theater  is  empty. 
That  which  is  the  accompaniment  of  the  profes- 
sion is  enough  to  condemn  it. 

A  young  man  on  his  knees  in  my  room  and 
then  at  my  home,  praying  that  God  would  deliver 
him  from  his  sin,  confessed  to  me  that  he  had 
come  from  a  good  home  and  gone  upon  the 
stage;  and  every  night  after  the  performance 
was  over,  he  said  he  had  to  be  with  his  com- 
panions after  the  midnight  hour,  drinking  and 
playing  cards  and  living  in  an  atmosphere  most 
deadly  with  its  poison.  "  Ruined,  ruined,"  was 
the  sad  cry,  and  it  is  the  echo  of  nearly  every  life 
of  that  kind.  I  know  a  mother  who  would  give 
her  last  drop  of  blood  if  her  boy  had  never  been 
behind  the  scenes — ruined  in  young  manhood, 
basely  ruined — and  her  heart  is  breaking  for  it. 
Even  little  TomThumb  could  not  get  rid  of  the 
disaster  when  he  went  out  upon  his  tour  before 
the  eyes  of  the  world.    Up  to  that  time  he  did 


108        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

not  drink,  but  then  it  began;  and  so  bad  and  de- 
praved did  he  become  in  so  short  a  time  that, 
when  in  St.  Louis,  his  manager  had  to  lock  him 
in  a  room  in  the  hotel  whenever  he  left  him.  He 
rang  the  bell  and  summoned  the  bell-boy,  and 
shoving  a  silver  dollar  under  the  door,  he  told 
the  boy  to  get  a  pint  of  whisky  and  a  clay  pipe. 
When  the  boy  returned  with  the  pint  of  whisky 
and  the  clay  pipe,  he  told  him  to  push  the 
stem  of  the  pipe  through  the  key-hole  and  pour 
the  whisky  in  the  bowl  of  the  pipe.  He  drank 
the  entire  pint  of  whisky,  and  when  the  manager 
came  back  he  found  poor  Tom  lying  on  the  floor, 
a  little  ball  of  humanity,  completely  saturated 
with  whisky. 

The  theater  life  is  destructive  of  the  mar- 
riage relation  and  everything  sweet  and  sacred 
in  family  life.  You  hear  of  revolver  shots  at 
the  door  of  the  theater;  revolver  shots  behind 
the  scenes;  revolver  shots  in  actors'  apartments. 
You  hear  of  the  untruthfulness  and  unfaithful- 
ness of  husband  to  wife  and  wife  to  husband 
in  almost  every  paper  you  read. 

"  Some  day,"  the  new  woman  said,  "  let  us 
get  together  and  abolish  man."  Well,  it  was  a 
hard  thing  to  abolish  man,  but  it  was  a  harder 


THE  SHADOWS  FROM  THE  FOOTLIGHTS.  109 


thing  to  get  together.  After  they  had  gotten 
together  and  abolished  man,  one  of  them  said, 
"  I  want  to  be  an  actress,  but  I  must  have  a 
divorce,  and  now  I  am  so  sorry  that  we  abol- 
ished man."  But  it  was  too  late,  and  her  life 
occupation  had  been  nipped  in  the  bud  because 
she  could  not  get  a  divorce.  Necessary  to  get 
a  divorce  in  order  to  be  a  star  on  the  stage!  If 
the  modern  theater  works  such  awful  ruin  to  the 
actors  and  actresses,  its  supporters  must  have 
some  share  in  the  condemnation.  If  the  daugh- 
ter of  Herodias  dances  for  Herod,  he  will  bear 
his  part  in  the  fearful  result.  One  of  the 
nephews  of  a  leader  of  the  Four  Hundred  in 
New  York  married  one  of  the  best  known  ballet 
dancers  in  this  country.  Do  you  know  what  the 
uncle  did  with  his  nephew;  what  the  whole 
family  did  with  him?  They  discarded  him  at 
once,  and  absolutely  refused  to  have  anything  to 
do  with  him  until  he  should  prove  unfaithful  to 
his  actress  wife.  And  yet  those  very  people  were 
paying  for  the  support  of  that  individual  and  of 
thousands  of  others  in  their  impurity.  They  sup- 
ported that  which  they  themselves  condemned. 
Theater  attendants  to-day  witness  the  unsexing 
of  womanhood  by  her  wearing  man's  clothes  and, 


no 


MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


far  worse  than  that,  the  destroying  of  all  purity 
of  womanhood  by  wearing  scarcely  any  clothes 
at  all.  If  she  were  their  sister,  they  would  have 
turned  their  eyes  away  and  held  up  their  hands 
in  holy  horror.  But  it  was  somebody's  sister,  it 
was  somebody's  daughter,  and  they  paid  for  her 
support.  This  is  injury  to  others,  but  how  deep 
it  goes  down  in  the  heart  when  men  behold  that 
which  is  impure,  that  which  makes  immodesty 
and  indelicacy,  to  receive  the  applause. 
Browning  says: 

"  Such  outrage  does  the  public — Phceba  named 
Such  purpose  to  corrupt  ingenuous  youth, 
Such  insult  cast  on  female  character  : 
Why,  when  I  saw  that  beastiality — 
So  beyond  all  brute  beast  imagining, 
That  when  to  point  the  moral  at  the  close 
Poor  Salabaccho,  just  to  show  how  fair 
Was  reconciliation,  stripped  her  charms, 
That  exhibition  simply  bade  us  breathe, 
Seeming  something  healthy  and  commendable. 
After  obscurity  grotesqued  so  much 
It  slunk  away  revolted  at  itself. 
Henceforth  I  had  my  answer  when  our  sage 
Pattern  professing  seniors  pleaded  grave 
Your  jail  to  fathom  has  the  deep  design  : 
All's  acted  in  the  interest  of  truth, 
Religion,  and  these  manners  old  and  dear 
Which  make  our  city  great." 


THE  SHADOWS  FROM  THE  FOOTLIGHTS.  HI 

Another  shadow  which  the  footlights  cast  is 
the  blasting  of  childhood.  Whenever  a  child  is 
placed  before  your  eyes  on  the  stage,  you  can 
pass  this  judgment  without  fear  of  contradiction, 
that  that  child  has  begun  a  life  which  shall  end 
in  absolute  failure  and  perhaps  the  entire  ruin  of 
character.  So  far  has  this  gone  in  our  world 
that  there  are  to-night  men  in  state  prison 
in  this  country  because  they  have  taken 
babies  and  tied  their  heads  and  their  forms 
into  contorted  positions,  in  order  that  in 
six  months'  or  a  year's  time  they  might  make 
money  out  of  them  in  the  museums  and  the 
theaters.  This  which  is  most  inhuman,  this 
most  cruel  barbarism,  is  still  going  on  in  this 
world  of  ours  to  satisfy  the  base  demands  of  the 
theaters. 

The  great  Lincoln,  when  on  his  way  to  the 
State  Capital  in  Illinois,  stopped  his  horse  and 
climbed  up  into  a  tree  in  order  to  place  back 
in  the  nest  two  little  birds  which  the  wind  had 
blown  from  their  home.  In  his  humanity  and 
deep  sympathy  even  for  suffering  birds,  the  great 
man  revealed  his  greatness.  One  of  the  sublim- 
est  efforts  possible  is  to  save  these  boys  and 
girls  from  that  which  is  their  inevitable  ruin. 


112 


MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


They  arc  out  of  their  nests  in  the  winds  and 
storms  of  the  world. 

Some  time  ago  one  of  these  boys  acting  on  the 
stage,  brought  up  from  boyhood  in  that  pro- 
fession, was  dying  from  overstrain,  his  nerves 
completely  shattered  and  his  little  form  weak- 
ened. He  was  one  of  the  prodigies  of  the  stage, 
but  was  dying  as  a  result  of  that  early  abuse, 
when  he  could  do  no  more  to  satisfy  that  craze 
of  humanity  and  the  public's  demand  for  seeing 
tortured  babies.  When  the  skeleton  hands  of 
Death  were  about  to  take  him  out  of  this  world 
into  the  other  world  he  played  the  greatest  act 
of  his  life,  tragedy  indeed;  when  up  into  some 
of  the  faces  of  those  before  whom  he  had  posed 
on  earth  he  looked  and  said,  "  O  God,  is  there 
no  room  yonder  for  a  little  fellow? "  There 
was  no  room  for  his  childhood  on  earth;  no 
room  for  his  play;  no  room  for  his 
education;  no  room  for  his  happy  little 
heart.  All  these  had  been  stolen  by  a  selfish 
humanity. 

This  shadow  of  blasted  childhood  falls  also 
upon  the  thousands  of  boys  and  girls  every  night 
in  the  theaters.  Boys  without  homes  receive  in 
these  galleries  the  larger  part  of  their  training. 


THE  SHADOWS  FROM  THE  FOOTLIGHTS.  113 


This  poison  enters  every  drop  of  their  blood  and 
goes  to  every  part  of  their  life.  The  newsboys 
and  other  boys,  by  the  thousand,  spend  their  time 
and  their  money  to  see  that  which  a  respectable 
government  should  forever  abolish. 

I  was  in  New  York  city  in  one  of  the  low 
theaters  and  witnessed  the  semi-nudity  of 
womanhood,  and  in  this  same  place  were  hun- 
dreds of  men  and  boys,  nearly  all  under  twenty 
years  of  age,  breathing  this  impure  air  and  then 
passing  out  of  the  theaters  into  the  midnight 
hour  and  into  the  dance  hall  and  dens  of  vice  and 
into  the  saloon  near  these  places.  Will  you 
answer  me?  Why  does  the  best  theater  have 
right  next  door,  and  as  a  part  of  the  institution, 
that  low,  mean  saloon,  and  upstairs  a  billiard 
hall,  the  very  resort  of  cut-throats,  thieves, 
topers,  pimps,  and  the  very  lowest  specimens  of 
humanity.  Why  these  accessories?  These 
accessories  the  theaters  must  have,  and  by  their 
fruits  and  their  companions  ye  shall  know  them. 

Some  years  ago  when  a  distinguished  man 
undertook  an  investigation  of  the  under-world 
of  New  York  city,  he  started  out  one  evening  at 
ten  o'clock.  The  detective  officer  who  accom- 
panied him  said  to  him:  "  It  is  only  ten  o'clock, 


ii4 


MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


and  it  is  too  early  to  see  the  places  that  we  wish 
to  see,  for  the  theaters  have  not  let  out."  The 
gentleman  said,  "  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  " 
"  Well,"  he  said,  "  the  places  of  iniquity  are  not 
in  full  blast  until  after  the  people  have  time  to 
arrive  from  the  theaters."  In  that  single  reply 
of  this  police  officer  we  are  brought  face  to  face 
with  the  terrible  fact  that  the  sum  total  of  the 
influences  of  our  theaters  to-day  is  overwhelm- 
ingly evil,  and  evil  in  its  immediate  result  as  well 
as  its  ultimate  tendencies. 

A  veteran  officer,  thirty  years  ago,  amid  a  rain 
of  bullets  and  the  bursting  of  shells,  far  up 
among  the  rocks  of  Missionary  Ridge,  shouted 
to  his  soldiers:  "Come  on!  come  on!"  That 
was  the  most  desperate  deed  of  the  war.  Grant, 
who  was  present  and  looking  on,  said  to  Sheri- 
dan: "Did  you  order  that  charge?"  "No," 
said  Sheridan,  "  they  are  doing  it  themselves." 
There  are  orders  that  go  straight  to  the  hearts 
of  men,  unheard  by  mortal  ears.  They  are  the 
sublimest  orders  that  ever  ear  heard  upon  earth; 
orders  which  come  silently  to  your  heart,  telling 
you  to  go  on  up  a  more  blood-stained  spot  than 
that  of  Missionary  Ridge.  They  say,  "  Go  on, 
go  on!"  not  to  save  the  flag,  but  to  save 


THE  SHADOWS  FROM  THE  FOOTLIGHTS. 


thousands  and  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
our  fellow-men.  When  those  four  million 
slaves  had  the  shackles  fall  from  their  hands 
and  their  feet,  they  did  not  experience 
more  than  many  thousands  of  our  fellow- 
men  ought  to  experience  by  our  more  courage- 
ous efforts.  If  it  means  sacrifice,  I  say,  in 
the  name  of  God  and  humanity,  be  willing  to 
sacrifice. 

The  footlights  cast  many  another  shadow,  but 
none  more  dark  than  the  one  of  irreverence. 
The  wit  which  is  flying  across  the  stage  is  like  an 
arrow  feathered  from  almost  every  obscene  bird; 
it  is  blasphemy.  There  is  also  mocking  of  that 
which  is  most  sacred.  How  many  times  are 
witnessed,  on  the  stage,  hands  clasped,  eyes 
heavenward  and  prayer  uttered  to  Almighty 
God,  and  the  very  lightning  stroke  of  heaven's 
justice,  it  seems,  ought  to  have  closed  the  lips 
in  eternal  silence.  Think  of  the  nightly  offense 
to  a  merciful  God  in  the  theaters  of  the  great 
city.  The  most  sacred  things  of  earth  are 
dragged  over  the  board. 

In  the  presence  of  a  great  audience  of  men  and 
boys  I  saw  a  stage  crowded  with  semi-nude 
women,  and  all  they  appeared  there  for  was 


Ii6        MID XI GUT  W  A  GREAT  CITY. 


to  display  their  forms  and  their  daring  im- 
modesty and  disgusting  indelicacy.  In  their 
shocking  lack  of  apparel  they  moved  about  in 
dances  for  hours  and  then  sang: 

"  My  country,  'tis  of  thee, 
Sweet  Land  of  Liberty." 

Yes,  "  Land  of  liberty."  License  instead  of 
liberty;  liberty  to  break  the  law,  to  increase 
the  impurity  of  earth,  and  to  show  that  there 
were  some  of  humankind  who  claimed  the  name 
of  woman  and  who  had  lost  the  last  spark  of  the 
delicacy  of  womanhood.    When  they  sang: 

"  Our  father's  God  to  Thee, 
Author  of  liberty, 
To  Thee  we  sing," 

I  felt  the  chills  creeping  up  my  spinal  column 
until  they  seemed  to  paralyze  my  entire  mortal 
frame,  and  I  wondered  if  God  would  allow  any- 
one to  come  out  of  that  home  of  blasphemy 
alive.  That  hymn  which  sixty  millions  of  people 
love — that  best  of  national  hymns,  that  praise  of 
Almighty  God — was  sung  in  such  a  place  as  that. 
Blasphemy,  extreme:  blasphemy,  born  in  hell; 
blasphemy,  taught  by  the  devils;  blasphemy 


THE  SHADOWS  FROM  THE  FOOTLIGHTS.  117 


created  to  ruin  and  wreck  immortal  souls;  blas- 
phemy, the  disgrace  of  civilization! 

"  The  theater  was,  from  the  very  first, 
The  favorite  haunt  of  sin,  though  honest  men — 
Some  very  honest,  wise,  and  worthy  men  — 
Maintained  that  it  might  be  turned  to  good  account  ; 
And  so  it  might,  but  never  was. 
From  first  to  last  it  was  an  evil  place, 
And  now  such  things  are  acted  there  as  make 
The  devils  blush,  and  from  the  neighborhood 
Angels  and  holy  men  tremblingly  retire." 

The  greatest  tragedy  ever  enacted  was  when 
the  Son  of  God  died  upon  the  cross  to  save  a 
lost,  sinful,  theater-going  world.  We  repeat  the 
awful  scenes  of  that  hour  by  crucifying  Him 
afresh  in  our  rejection  of  His  infinite  love.  The 
earth  is  the  theater.  The  sky  is  its  dome.  The 
stars  are  its  thousand-candled  chandeliers. 
The  brooks  and  birds  and  all  the  voices  of  nature 
are  the  orchestra.  The  flowers  and  trees  are  its 
decorations.  The  grass  is  the  emerald  axmin- 
ster  and  velvet.  The  clouds  rich  with  color  are 
its  drapery  and  curtains.  The  beauties  and 
splendor  of  a  world  are  its  scenery.  You  are  the 
actor.  The  tragedy  of  this  hour  is  "  The  refusal 
of  Christ." 

The  immortal  Lincoln,  when  he  wrote  the 


Ii8        MIDNIGHT  IN  A   GREAT  CITY. 

Emancipation  Proclamation  and  attempted  to 
sign  his  name  to  it,  in  the  presence  of  Stanton 
said:  "  I  don't  know  what  is  the  matter  with  me 
to-day;  my  hand  trembles  so  that  I  cannot 
write.  The  excitement  which  I  have  gone 
through  during  these  days  and  weeks  has  been 
too  great  for  me,  and  it  seems  as  if  I  cannot  write. 
I  want  it  said,  when  this  document  goes  down 
to  history,  that  I  was  not  afraid.  If  the  hand 
trembles,  they  will  say  I  was  too  cowardly 
about  it."  He  started  again  and  then  stopped 
and  walked  across  the  floor,  and  then  he  went 
back,  sat  down,  and  with  a  bold  hand  wrote, 
"  Abraham  Lincoln."  He  said,  "  Stanton,  that 
will  do.  That  is  the  best  act  my  hand  ever 
did." 

God  has  given  you  your  emancipation  procla- 
mation to  sign.  Do  not  hesitate;  do  not  hesi- 
tate! Sit  down  before  Heaven  and  earth  and 
write  it  down  in  bold  letters — write  your  own 
name.  And  then  the  Son  of  God  will  come 
and  retrace  the  lines  with  His  own  finger,  and 
your  blackened  ink  will  appear  in  the  crimson 
of  His  own  blood. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


THE   FOGS    OF  IGNORANCE. 

It  was  a  beautiful  day  in  early  summer,  the 
train  was  thundering  on  its  way  through  the 
country,  the  quiet  stream  glided  merrily  at 
its  side,  the  whole  valley  was  made  perfect  by 
the  handiwork  of  the  creator,  Spring.  I  let  the 
book  fall  and  turned  my  eyes  to  drink  in  the 
beauty  of  that  magnificent  landscape  and  to 
regret  its  passing  so  quickly  from  vision.  The 
fields  were  beginning  to  copy  the  sea  in  their 
waves  of  golden  grain.  The  meadows  were 
preparing  for  the  music  of  the  reaper's  scythe. 
The  hillsides  were  all  crowned  with  emerald 
glory.  The  daisies  and  buttercups  made  the 
world  a  veritable  flower  garden.  The  flocks  and 
herds  dotted  the  field  and  rested  beneath  the 
welcome  shade.  The  sky  above  was  one  great 
expanse  of  sapphire  glory.  Above  the  rumble 
and  roar  of  the  old  iron  horse  and  his  following 
n9 


120 


MIDXIGHT  IN  A   GREAT  CITY. 


train,  one  could  almost  hear  the  delightful 
harmony  of  bird  song  and  brook  warble  and 
the  ten-thousand-voiced  chorus  of  nature.  The 
whole  scene  was  the  perfection  of  earth's  beauty 
and  a  reflection  of  the  upper  world.  In  it  could 
be  seen  something  of  the  gardens  of  God  and  the 
silver  river  and  the  trees  and  flowers  and  music 
of  heaven.  I  became  almost  entranced,  and  for- 
got the  passing  of  moments  into  hours,  when 
suddenly,  in  the  distance  beneath  the  sheltering 
hill,  I  saw  a  little  red  schoolhouse,  with  a  small 
American  flag  flying  from  its  roof.  I  forgot  all 
else  and  fastened  my  gaze  upon  it  alone  as  I 
said,  "  That  is  the  most  beautiful  feature  in  all 
this  landscape,  and  one  of  earth's  greatest 
glories."  The  eyes  of  men  and  angels  alike  rest 
longer  and  more  lovingly  upon  that  sacred  spot 
than  upon  all  its  surroundings.  Neither  the 
beauty  of  our  country  nor  its  wealth  depends  as 
much  upon  waving  grain  or  dancing  stream  or 
richest  meadow  or  silver-lined  hills  or  golden 
centered  mountains,  as  they  do  on  the  little  red 
schoolhouse  built  by  the  hand  of  God,  just  as 
certainly  as  the  mountains  at  its  side  or  the  sky 
above  its  flag.  I  never  see  it  standing  anywhere 
on  the  soil  of  this  free  land  but  my  heart  beats 


THE  FOGS  OF  IGNORANCE.  121 

faster,  and  my  brain  grows  clearer,  and  my  pro- 
phetical ability  has  reached  perfection  in  the 
declaration  of  the  greater  glory  and  the  everlast- 
ing triumph  of  our  institutions. 

In  the  fogs  and  darkness  of  the  great  city  the 
public  school  stands  as  the  electric  plant,  and  by 
its  light  I  can  see  my  way  out  of  unhindered 
pessimism  into  the  day-dawn  of  unclouded 
optimism.  These  magnificent  institutions  are 
the  great  levelers  of  American  society,  the  great 
makers  of  citizen  kings,  the  great  preservers  of 
the  ballot  scepter.  Their  sanctity  must  be 
strongly  emphasized  in  this  day  of  supreme  need 
and  supreme  peril.  There  are  enemies  sur- 
rounding them  in  the  centers  of  population,  and 
there  must  be  patriotic  defenders  to  protect  them 
from  every  danger.  We  have  heard  of  London 
fogs  and  have  seen  them  settle  down  with  all 
their  thick  darkness  and  dampness  upon  the 
millions  of  humankind.  But  there  is  a  fog 
just  as  dense  and  more  to  be  dreaded,  settling 
down  upon  the  American  city.  I  mean  the 
"  fogs  of  ignorance."  There  are  thousands  and 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  people  in  the  very 
metropolis  of  this  land  living  in  ignorance — 
ignorance  of  our  institutions;  ignorance  of  our 


122        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

customs;  ignorance  of  our  history;  ignorance 
of  the  first  elements  of  a  common  education; 
ignorance  even  of  our  common  schools.  In  this 
very  fact  lies  one  of  the  strongest  menaces  to 
our  government.  This  undisputed  fact  in 
city  life  is  due  to  various  causes.  The  popula- 
tion has  become  so  largely  foreign.  Immi- 
grants once  came  to  our  shores  from  the  Old 
World  from  a  different  motive,  and  of  a  different 
quality  and  in  far  smaller  numbers.  In  the  early 
years  of  our  history  they  were  counted  by  the 
hundreds,  and  then  by  the  thousands,  and  now 
by  the  hundreds  of  thousands  and  almost  millions 
yearly,  and  largely  dwelling  in  the  low  districts 
of  the  great  cities.  There  is  a  veritable  Babel 
built  in  these  centers.  All  languages  of  the 
earth  are  spoken,  and  we  are  meeting  the  same 
difficulty  that  the  great  statesman  Nehemiah 
met  when  the  children  of  his  kingdom  spoke 
half  in  the  language  of  Ashdod,  because  of  their 
foreign  relations.  He  was  once  as  meek  as 
Moses,  but  now,  in  view  of  this  startling  condi- 
tion, he  placed  no  fetters  upon  his  righteous 
wrath.  He  proclaimed  that  indignation  in  bold- 
est terms  and  inflicted  severest  penalties  for  such 
a  criminal  offense.    He  was  more  wise  and  more 


THE  FOGS  OF  IGNORANCE.  123 

patriotic  than  most  of  our  statesmen.  The  off- 
spring of  this  foreign  marriage  was  ignorance — 
a  result  almost  as  disastrous  as  the  calamity  of 
an  English  duke  or  an  Italian  count  marrying 
into  American  blood. 

When  education  is  hindered  the  most  vital 
part  of  national  life  is  poisoned.  The  gates  to 
this  continent  should  not  be  closed  to  any  man, 
woman,  or  child  who  comes  from  any  part  of  the 
earth  and  comes  to  be  an  intelligent,  patriotic 
American  citizen.  But  when  the  thousands  are 
landed  upon  these  shores  to  take  up  their  abode 
in  the  Italian  quarter,  and  the  Greek  quarter,  and 
the  German  quarter,  and  the  Chinese  quarter  of 
the  city,  and  to  become  Irish-Americans,  and 
German-Americans,  and  Italian-Americans, 
there  should  be  a  wall  of  hindrance  placed  some- 
where. Not  America  for  Americans,  but 
America  for  all  who  will  become  Americans. 
One  flag,  one  country,  and  one  school  at  its 
gateway. 

Some  part  of  this  fog  is  caused  by  the  lack 
of  school  accommodation.  Rapidly  increasing 
numbers  and  thieving  political  hands  have  caused 
this  dire  calamity.  Thousands  and  tens  of  thou- 
sands of  children  are  turned  away  from  the 


124        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

school  doors  every  year  for  want  of  room.  Five 
thousand  were  thus  dealt  with  this  year  in 
Brooklyn  on  the  opening  day,  and  ten  thousand 
could  be  taught  only  half  time.  In  New  York 
city  the  condition  is  far  more  appalling.  Politi- 
cians are  carrying  this  blood  money  in  their 
pockets  to-day.  That  which  should  have  right- 
fully been  given  for  the  building  and  enlarging 
of  public  schools  has  been  paid  for  fast  horses 
and  elegant  mansions.  This  is  one  answer  to 
the  question,  "Where  did  he  get  it?"  And 
where  did  many  another  member  of  the  conniv- 
ing and  crimson-stained  rings  of  the  city  get  it? 
They  stole  it  from  this  most  sacred  fund,  and  now 
we  suffer  and  the  children  are  robbed  of  their 
rights  to  an  education.  Red  hands  have  held  this 
budget  and  squeezed  almost  its  entire  value  into 
the  pockets  of  public  thieves.  The  city  govern- 
ment might  appropriately  rub  "  In  God  we 
trust  "  from  its  money,  and  stamp  into  the  silver 
this  more  appropriate  and  more  truthful  state- 
ment, "  The  fool  and  his  money  are  soon 
parted." 

The  administrators  of  these  great  cities  are 
employing  just  about  as  much  wisdom  in  the 
building  of  schools,  as  the  county  commissioners 


THE  FOGS  OF  IGNORANCE.  1 25 

did  who  resolved  to  build  a  new  jail,  They  re- 
solved: (1)  to  build  a  new  jail;  (2)  to  build  it 
out  of  the  bricks  used  in  the  old  one;  (3)  to  keep 
the  prisoners  in  the  old  one  while  they  built  the 
new  one;  (4)  to  build  the  new  one  on  the  site 
where  the  old  one  now  stands.  That  absurdity 
is  no  more  monstrous  and  that  fool-logic  is  no 
more  climactic  than  that  of  our  authorities 
before  the  unparalleled  need  and  unmeas- 
ured peril  in  the  lack  of  school  accommoda- 
tion. A  father  in  this  city  recently  brought 
suit  against  the  authorities  for  refusing  his 
eleven-year-old  boy  the  privileges  of  the  public 
school.  But  the  courts  manipulated  the  case  in 
favor  of  a  vile  system  and  an  un-American 
policy,  while  the  father  was  left,  with  ten 
thousand  others,  to  mourn  his  boy's  de- 
privation. If  the  city  refuses  to  admit 
the  boy  to  its  school  for  one  year  or  three 
years,  it  has  deprived  him  of  those  years'  privi- 
lege forever.  He  can  never  retrace  his  steps. 
The  advantage  has  been  turned  into  disadvant- 
age, and  ignorance  has  become  his  inheritance 
in  this  free  land.  Education  has  been  considered 
of  such  vital  importance  that  a  compulsory  law 
stands  upon  our  statue-books,  but  in  many 


126        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


cities  it  has  become  a  compulsory  farce.  What 
folly  there  is  in  a  compulsory  law  when  there  is 
no  place  into  which  to  compel  the  children  to  go ! 

There  is  also  a  religious  or  rather  irreligious 
enemy,  before  the  doors  of  these  institutions 
which  are  fundamental  to  the  safety  of  our  liber- 
ties and  the  advance  of  our  prosperity.  The 
effort  on  the  part  of  Rome  to  batter  down  these 
stones  and  bricks  has  not  ceased.  Both  pub- 
licly and  privately  that  traitorous  work  is  going 
on,  and  will  go  on  as  long  as  the  principles  that 
govern  that  Church  remain  about  its  throne.  It 
denounces  these  schools  as  secular  and  godless 
and  infidel,  without  one  particle  of  foundation 
for  the  use  of  such  vile  epithets.  It  is  still 
struggling  with  most  intense  and  too  often  suc- 
cessful efforts  in  these  cities  to  turn  the  public 
money  appropriated  for  public  schools  into  the 
channel  of  support  for  parochial  schools.  It 
attempts  to  manipulate  the  management  of  our 
public  schools  and  to  mutilate  the  text-books. 
In  the  secret  assaults  constantly  made  upon  the 
public  schools  their  hold  is  weakened  on  the 
hearts  of  the  people.  In  the  great  Cathedral  in 
New  York  city,  from  the  most  important  pulpit 
in  the  Catholic  Church  in  America,  the  public 


THE  FOGS  OF  IGNORANCE.  127 


school  was  recently  denounced  and  deep-dyed 
sin  declared  to  be  resting  on  the  souls  of 
parents  who  dared  to  send  their  children  to  these 
godless   institutions,   while,   from   another  of 
their  highest  stations,  comes  the  bishop's  decla- 
ration that  no  one  can  be  admitted  to  the  sacra- 
ments who  sends  his  children  to  the  public 
school.    Oh,  what  a  mighty  enemy  is  here  found 
to  enlightenment  and  to  the  development  of  citi- 
zen kings  from  these  great  cities,  where  such  a 
vast  proportion  of  the  population  belongs  to  a 
church  which  openly  avows  itself  to  be  the 
enemy  of  the  schools !    Of  this  church,  in  regard 
to  its  educational  methods,  Victor  Hugo  so 
truthfully  said,  in  one  of  his  famous  speeches, 
"  You  claim  the  liberty  of  teaching.    Stop;  be 
sincere;  let  us  understand  the  liberty  you  claim. 
You  wish  us  to  give  you  the  people  to  instruct. 
Very  well,  let  us  see  your  pupils.    Let  us  see 
those  you  have  produced.    What  have  you  done 
for  Italy?    What  have  you  done  for  Spain? 
For  centuries  you  have  kept  in  your  hands,  at 
your  discretion,  in  your  schools  these  two  great 
nations,  illustrious  among  the  illustrious.  What 
have  you  done  for  them?     I  shall  tell  you. 
Italy,  which  taught  mankind  to  read,  now  knows 


MIDNIGHT  aV  A  GREAT  CITY. 


not  how  to  read.    Yes;  Italy  is,  of  all  the  states 
of  Europe,  that  where  the  smallest  numbers 
know  how  to  read.    Spain,  magnificently  en- 
dowed; Spain,  which  received  from  the  Romans 
her  first  civilization,  from  the  Arab  her  second 
civilization,  from  Providence,  in  spite  of  you,  a 
world — America;  S  >ain,  thanks  to  you,  rests 
under  a  yoke  of  stupor  v/hich  is  a  yoke  of  degra- 
dation and  decay.    Spain  has  lost  the  secret  of 
power  it  obtained  from  the  Romans,  the  genius 
of  art  it  had  from  the  Arabs,  the  world  it  had 
from  God;  and  in  exchange  for  that  you  have 
made  it  lose  it  has  received  from  you  the  Inqui- 
sition, which  certain  of  your  party  tried  to-day 
to  re-establish;  which  has  burned  on  the  funeral 
pile  millions  of  men;  the  Inquisition  which  dis- 
interred the  dead  to  burn  them  as  heretics;  which 
declared  the  children  of  heretics  infamous  and 
incapable  of  any  public  honors,  excepting  only 
those  who  shall  have  denounced  their  fathers. 
This  is  what  you  have  done  for  two  great  nations. 
What  do  you  wish  to  do  for  France?  Stop; 
you  have  just  come  from  Rome.    I  congratu- 
late you;  you  have  had  fine  success  there;  you 
have  come  from  gagging  the  Roman  people  and 


THE  FOGS  OF  IGNORANCE.  1 29 

now  you  wish  to  gag  the  French  people.  Take 
care;  France  is  a  lion,  and  is  alive." 

May  America  echo  that  same  sentiment  until 
it  sounds  through,  every  street  of  the  city,  and 
into  every  hamlet,  and  re-echoes  from  mountain 
top  to  mountain  top  and  becomes  a  part  of  the 
music  which  sounds  across  this  great  continent, 
from  Atlantic  seaboard  to  Pacific  slope.  Before 
this  bold  enemy  we  must  stand  unflinchingly 
until  the  sword  drops  from  his  palsied  hand. 
We  must  learn  his  treachery,  concealed  or  re- 
vealed. It  is  always  the  same  Trojan  horse,  and 
within  his  unsuspected  frame  is  concealed  the 
assassin  of  our  free  schools.  Any  voice  which 
speaks  of  them  disparagingly  is  the  voice  of  a 
traitor  and  must  be  silenced,  if  security  and  pros- 
perity are  to  be  insured.  The  superstructure 
of  this  republic  rests  upon  these  schools  as  its 
foundation  stones.  If  they  are  made  to  crumble, 
the  palace  itself  must  be  weakened  and  at  last 
be  dust. 

A  large  part  of  our  glory  has  been  in  our  uni- 
versal intelligence.  Let  that  intelligence  dis- 
appear and  ignorance  take  its  place  in  these 
great   masses  of  people,  and  more  frightful 


130        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

results  will  follow  than  human  mind  can  proph- 
esy. But  the  pages  of  history  can  furnish  us 
with  some  idea  of  what  it  may  be.  The  marvel 
of  other  nations  of  the  world  has  been  that  this 
nation  has  been  able  to  endure  and  prosper 
under  what  they  have  called  "  a  mob  govern- 
ment." But  our  fathers  founded  this  govern- 
ment upon  free  boys  and  free  brains,  and  in  that 
is  our  future  hope.  Let  the  foreigners  come  and 
let  the  city  grow.  If  we  can  only  gather  their 
children  out  of  the  "  fogs  of  ignorance  "  into 
the  clear  atmosphere  of  the  public  school,  we 
are  safe.  When  Antipater  demanded  fifty  chil- 
dren as  hostages  from  the  Spartans,  they  offered 
him  instead  one  hundred  men  of  distinction; 
and  in  that  act  the  Spartans  revealed  their  wis- 
dom. Our  strength  too  is  in  the  children — that 
mighty  on-coming  host  of  citizen  kings,  edu- 
cated to  wield  their  scepters  wisely  and  well. 

I  read  of  two  sons  of  Erin's  Isle,  who  had 
naturalization  papers  in  their  pockets  and  the 
sanctity  of  the  ballot-box  in  their  hands;  when 
they  were  walking  down  the  tracks  of  the  Balti- 
more and  Ohio  Railroad  they  came  to  a  mile- 
post  upon  which  was  printed  "108  miles  to  Balti- 
more."    One  of  them  said,  "  You  must  tread 


THE  FOGS  OF  IGNORANCE.  13 1 


lightly  here;  a  very  old  man  is  buried  in  this 
American  soil.  His  name  is  Miles;  he  is  from 
Baltimore,  and  he  is  108  years  old."  The  Ameri- 
can citizen  should  know  the  difference  between 
a  milepost  and  a  tombstone,  and  the  only  factor 
in  our  life  to  produce  that  right  knowledge  and 
to  preserve  our  government  is  the  public  school. 
When  I  think  of  that  critical  hour  when  Sumter 
was  fired  upon  and  Lincoln's  appeal  to  the 
people  was  heard,  I  invariably  think  of  the 
schoolhouses  which  dotted  this  land  and  which 
made  the  strength  of  that  people  which  pre- 
served union  and  liberty.  There  they  were 
educated  to  make  that  glorious  response: 

"  If  you  look  across  the  hilltops  that  meet  the  northern  sky, 
Long  lines  of  moving  dust  your  vision  may  descry  ; 
And  now  the  wind  an  instant  tears  the  misty  veil  aside  ; 
Up  floats  our  royal  banner  in  glory  and  in  pride. 
And  bayonets  in  the  sunlight  gleam,  brave  hands  their 
music  pour, 

We're  coming,  Father  Abraham,  six  hundred  thousand 
more." 

They  are  the  schoolhouses  on  which  to-day 
the  Stars  and  Stripes  are  seen  and  in  which 
patriotism  is  taught  and  American  ideas  and 
principles  are  instilled  in  the  young  minds  and 
hearts;  where  manners  and  morality  are  learned 


13 2         MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


as  well  as  mathematics  and  geography;  where 
Anti-Cigarette  Leagues  are  formed  and  tem- 
perance instruction  is  furnished;  where  many 
of  the  best  minds  and  noblest  hearts  are  the 
teachers;  where  the  rich  and  poor,  the  high  and 
low,  the  foreign  and  American-born  reach  the 
same  level,  and  receive  the  same  benefits,  and  are 
cemented  into  the  one  common  bond  of  union. 
From  these  God-planned  and  Heaven-blessed 
institutions  there  is  coming  forth  a  vast  army 
to  respond  to  any  call  of  duty,  and  to  meet  any 
enemy  that  sets  foot  upon  this  free  soil,  and  to 
plant  our  banners  triumphantly  upon  every  hill- 
top, from  North  to  South,  from  East  to  West. 
What  a  stupendous  obligation  rests  upon  these 
teachers,  and  what  a  magnificent  opportunity  is 
dropped  from  the  skies  to  fall  at  their  feet;  the 
privilege  and  power  to  mold  this  plastic  ma- 
terial into  the  proper  shape,  so  that  the  hand  can 
hold  the  scepter  and  the  brow  can  hold  the  crown 
of  citizen  kings.  This  demand  for  education 
should  not  become  a  danger.  Mind  must  be 
kept  in  its  proper  relation  to  the  rest  of  the  boy. 
It  is  first,  Will  himself;  it  is  second,  Will's 
body;  it  is  third,  Will's  mind.  That  must  for- 
ever be  the  order.    Character  first;  health  sec- 


THE  FOGS  OF  IGNORANCE.  133 

ond;  intellect  last,  but  intellect  not  neglected. 
Finishing  education  in  our  schools  means  some- 
times, alas!  the  finishing  of  the  child.  Work 
should  not  be  too  hard,  hours  should  not  be 
too  many,  rooms  should  not  be  too  crowded, 
brains  should  not  be  too  racked.  The  saddest 
sight  on  earth  is  the  old-man  boy  and  the 
old-woman  girl.  School  must  not  burn  up  the 
exuberance  of  health,  nor  the  force  of  char- 
acter. This  must  be  counted  among  dangers 
and  a  part  of  the  fog.  May  this  or  no  other 
stealthy  enemy  share  in  the  destruction  of  the 
school  power!  May  men  learn  more  deeply  the 
lesson  that  our  public  schools  must  be  increased 
and  preserved  at  all  hazards  and  that  their  every 
enemy,  secular  or  religious,  must  be  routed!  If 
smoke  must  come  in  the  place  of  fog,  we  will 
have  smoke.  Bunker  Hill  and  Gettysburg  and 
Antietam,  and  many  more,  were  too  dear  a  price 
to  pay  for  that  which  we  possess  to-day,  to  allow 
it  ever  to  be  taken  away  by  the  hand  of  the 
enemy. 

To  decide  who  was  to  hold  and  who  was  to 
occupy  Chattanooga,  was  fought  the  battle  of 
Chickamauga.  General  Thomas  held  the  road 
which  was  the  pivotal  point,  and  the  Graycoats 


134        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

were  coming  upon  him  with  unexampled  fury. 
The  Blue  line  had  been  broken.  In  that  fearful 
hour  of  peril  Rosecrans  must  have  a  message 
reach  Thomas.  The  only  possible  way  was 
through  McFarland's  Gap — a  distance  of  eight 
miles.  He  commanded  General  Garfield  and 
two  or  three  orderlies  to  make  that  most  danger- 
ous journey.  Without  a  moment's  hesitation 
Garfield  mounted  his  noble  horse  and  started,  as 
most  of  them  thought,  to  his  death.  At  any 
turn  in  the  dark  pathless  wood  or  the  river  valley, 
they  might  come  upon  the  enemy.  At  last  the 
road  was  scarcely  more  than  a  lane;  on  the  one 
side  was  a  thick  wood,  and  on  the  other  side  an 
open  cotton  field.  No  troops  were  in  sight  and 
they  galloped  at  a  rapid  pace.  Suddenly  from 
out  of  the  wood  a  volley  of  rifle  balls,  as  thick  as 
hail,  fell  among  them.  Horses  were  killed,  and 
two  orderlies  were  stretched  lifeless  on  the 
ground.  Garfield  was  mounted  on  a  magnifi- 
cent horse,  which  knew  his  master's  hand.  He 
instantly  turned  to  the  left  and  leaped  the  fence 
into  the  cotton  field.  The  opposite  side  of  the 
lane  was  lined  with  Longstreet's  skirmishers  and 
sharpshooters,  and  a  single  glance  told  him  they 
were  loading  for  another  volley.    Pressing  his 


THE  FOGS  OF  IGNORANCE.  135 

lips  firmly  together  he  said  to  himself,  "  Now  is 
your  time.  Be  a  man,  James  Garfield."  He 
touched  the  rein,  the  trained  beast  heeded  that 
touch,  and  with  spurs  in  his  side  he  took  a  zig- 
zag course  across  the  cotton  field.  It  was  his 
only  chance.  A  steady  aim  upon  him  meant 
death.  It  was  up  an  inclined  plain  of  about  four 
hundred  yards.  If  he  could  pass  the  crest  he 
would  be  safe.  But  the  Gray  soldiers  could  load 
and  fire  twice  in  that  time.  Up  the  slope  he 
went,  when  another  volley  thundered  its  deadly 
missiles  all  about  him.  His  horse  was  struck, 
but  the  noble  animal  only  leaped  forward  the 
faster.  Another  volley  echoed  along  the  hill 
when  he  was  only  halfway  over  the  crest.  He 
tore  down  the  slope  in  triumph,  when  a  small 
body  of  Bluecoats  galloped  forward  to  meet 
him.  Colonel  McCook  shouted,  "  My  God, 
Garfield!  I  thought  you  were  killed  certain. 
How  you  escaped  is  a  miracle."  He  did  not 
hesitate.  Four  miles  more  must  be  passed 
through  plowed  fields  and  tangled  forests  be- 
fore he  could  reach  Thomas.  The  wounded 
horse  plunged  forward  with  the  spirit  of  a  lion. 
At  last  Garfield  came  within  sight  of  Thomas, 
while  over  him  was  sweeping  a  storm  of  leaden 


136        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

fire.  Shot  and  shell  plowed  up  the  ground,  but, 
as  he  saw  Thomas,  he  halted  in  the  midst  of  the 
storm  and  with  uplifted  arm  shouted,  "  There  he 
is.  God  bless  the  old  hero!  He  has  saved  the 
army."  In  a  moment  more  the  two  men  fell 
into  each  other's  arms,  while  the  noble  horse, 
struck  by  another  bullet,  staggered  a  step  or  two 
and  fell  dead  at  their  feet. 

The  public  schools  by  the  roadsides  are 
pivotal  points  in  the  salvation  of  our  great  cities. 
O  God,  give  us  all  the  soul  of  the  heroic  general, 
and  the  martyred  president  and  the  enthroned 
Garfield! 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


THE   BLACKNESS    OF  IMPURITY. 


When  the  pure  white  garments  of  a  winter's 
morning  have  been  wrapped  about  our  world  by 
the  attendants  of  nature,  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful pictures  is  presented  to  the  human  vision,  and 
even  angels  must  look  out  of  the  windows  of  the 
upper  world  to  see  this  copy  of  their  white  robes. 
Were  there  ever  such  purity  and  sparkling  beauty 
on  earth?  When  that  little  snowflake  traveler 
makes  its  long  journey  from  the  skies  to  coat  or 
fence  or  porch  or  street,  it  seems  as  if  some  of  the 
crystal  glory  must  have  been  brushed  from  the 
•walls  of  the  eternal  city.  It  sparkles  with  daz- 
zling brightness  under  the  rays  of  the  morning 
sun.  It  seems  like  one  of  ten  thousand  dia- 
monds scattered  in  the  pathway  of  the  Queen  of 
night.  It  is  a  very  milky  way  of  stars  for  human 
feet  to  tread.  Every  naked  limb  of  tree  even 
is  transformed  into  a  jewel-studded  scepter,  and 
crowns  are  placed  upon  many  a  lowly  brow. 


137 


13$        MIDNIGHT  IN  A   GREAT  CITY. 

I  saw  the  impurity  of  the  city's  streets  com- 
pletely hidden  beneath  the  glory  of  these  count- 
less messengers  of  purity  from  the  heavenly 
world.  I  paused  at  the  midnight  hour  to  be 
enraptured  by  such  a  wondrous  transformation. 
I  arose  in  the  morning  to  find  that  amazing 
whiteness  stained  and  the  flashing  jewels  dead- 
ened. Already  the  smoke  and  dust  and  wind  of 
the  great  city  had  begun  to  do  their  blackening 
deed.  From  cradle  and  country  a  vast  amount 
of  purity  enters  the  city  life.  Real  snowflake 
messengers  from  another  world,  but  alas!  alas! 
how  quickly  the  evil  forces  of  the  destroyer  cover 
them  and  mingle  them  with  the  foulness  of  im- 
purity. The  crystals  of  thought  and  word  and 
deed  are  crushed  beneath  its  cruel  hoof  and  the 
wheels  of  its  commerce.  They  are  buried  by  its 
black  dust  and  destroyed  by  its  heartless  servants. 
These  hostile  forces  are  the  feet  of  the  harpies 
of  darkness,  the  rush  of  business  through  the 
streets,  the  scattered  fragments  of  broken  law, 
the  soot  of  heart  and  brain  factories,  the  mud  of 
unjust  discrimination. 

This  blackness  of  impurity  in  the  great  centers 
of  population  is  beyond  all  human  comprehen- 
sion, and  is  something  astounding  to  those  who 


THE  BLACKNESS  OF  IMPURITY.  139 


have  investigated  the  extent  of  this  large  part  of 
the  dominions  of  hell.  An  estimate  of  the  num- 
ber of  the  fortifications  of  this  iniquity  is  impos- 
sible. An  attempt  to  estimate  the  number  of 
the  so-called  "  abandoned  "  is  folly.  It  is  the 
blackest  of  all  sin  and  is  hidden  in  its  own  dark- 
ness, which  is  the  darkness  of  perdition.  In  the 
lightning  flashes  of  that  cloud  and  the  rumbling 
of  its  thunders  some  revelations  are  made. 
Thousands  of  wrecks  are  along  the  shore,  thou- 
sands of  victims  are  falling  beneath  its  awful 
wave,  thousands  of  pathetic  cries  are  heard,  and 
thousands  of  immortal  souls  are  ruined.  I  have 
seen  in  the  highest  and  lowest  places  of  the  city 
these  harpies  of  darkness  treading  upon  the 
purity  of  the  innocent  boys  and  girls,  not  willing 
to  pause  in  their  path  of  ruin  until  they  had 
crushed  out  the  whiteness  of  other  lives.  I  have 
witnessed  their  diabolism  with  my  own  eyes,  and 
have  seen  them  luring  innocency  into  that  down- 
ward path  and  to  the  edge  of  that  bottomless  pit. 
These  unhallowed  fires  must  have  fuel,  and  some 
of  it  is  coming  out  of  the  best  homes  in  city 
and  country.  His  Satanic  majesty  must  have 
the  boys  and  girls,  and  how  infinitely  sad  the 
thought  that  they  might  be  ours.    I  walked 


140         MIDXIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


along  the  Bowery  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning 
and  saw  scores  and  hundreds  of  these  harpies 
inveigling  the  boys  into  their  dens  and  educating 
the  girls  in  their  vice.  Every  method  con- 
ceivable was  used,  from  astonishing  boldness  to 
dove-like  innocency.  All  the  machinations  of 
demon  genius  were  displayed  for  the  purpose  of 
ruin.  The  spiders  wove  their  webs  in  every 
direction,  and  the  flies  thought  they  were  parlors. 
The  streets  were  almost  impassable  because  of 
this  crowded,  infernal  purpose. 

I  saw  her  who  was  created  as  pure  as  an 
angel — made  in  the  image  and  likeness  of  God — 
the  last  and  best  of  His  handiwork — fall  so  low 
as  to  be  in  the  Chinese  opium  dens,  to  bury  her 
purity  in  that  deepest  grave.  Mine  eyes  almost 
refused  to  look  upon  our  American  girls  in  such 
depths.  And  some  of  them  had  stood  upon  the 
very  heights  of  the  social  world  before  they  fell 
into  the  chasm.  I  discovered  that  there  were 
those  who  had  come  from  the  best  of  homes,  and 
had  taught  in  Sunday-schools  the  story  of  the 
Cross,  and  knew  as  well  as  I  how  to  say  "  Blessed 
are  the  pure  in  heart,  for  they  shall  see  God."  I 
heard  such  sob  and  say, 


THE  BLACKNESS  OF  IMPURITY.  141 

"  Once  I  was  pure  as  the  snow,  but  I  fell — 
Fell  like  a  snowflake,  from  Heaven  to  Hell — 
Fell,  to  be  trampled  as  filth  on  the  street — 
Fell,  to  be  scoffed  at,  spit  on,  and  beat ; 
Praying,  cursing,  wishing  to  die, 
Selling  my  soul  to  whoever  would  buy. 
Dealing  in  shame  for  a  morsel  of  bread  ; 
Hating  the  living  and  fearing  the  dead." 

The  like  is  also  true  of  many  of  the  young 
men  who  frequent  the  vilest  haunts  of  the  city 
and  whose  associates  at  times  are  sickening. 
He  is  a  lecherous  scoundrel  now  who  once 
folded  his  little  hands  at  mother's  knee  and 
learned  sweetest  lessons  from  her  pure  lips  and 
life.  In  the  dance-hall  or  public  hall  is  usually 
found  the  primary  department  of  this  school  of 
vice.  A  Catholic  priest  has  said  that,  "  The 
secrets  of  the  confessional  revealed  that  nearly 
all  the  fallen  women  were  victims  of  the  dance." 
The  Chief  of  Police  in  New  York  city  has  said, 
"  Three-fourths  of  the  abandoned  girls  of  this 
city  were  ruined  by  dancing." 

I  have  seen  some  results  from  these  places 
which  now  make  me  the  subject  of  old-fashioned 
chills  and  fever:  chills  of  horror  first  and  fever 
of  indignation  afterward.  I  am  not  writing 
concerning  the  parlor  dance  or  graceful  motions 


I42        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

of  the  body  to  the  sounds  of  music,  but  of  the 
dissolute  dance  of  the  hidden  and  public  place. 
They  were  planned  in  the  lower  world,  and  the 
suggestion  is  working  with  tremendous  effect  on 
this  planet.  It  is  a  whirl  which  becomes  swifter 
and  swifter  until  the  victim  is  hurled  over  the 
precipice  into  the  dark,  foul  depths  of  impurity 
from  whence  another  Dante  might  get  his  illus- 
trations for  another  "  Inferno."  These  resorts 
are  the  homes  of  moral  lepers,  and  at  their  touch 
the  unsuspecting  are  made  leprous.  Vultures 
of  black  wing  and  bloody  beak  fly  through  the 
circles  and  squares.  The  associations  are  vile 
and  the  motives  to  be  condemned.  In  high  and 
low  alike  the  most  attractively  dressed  are  the 
most  conspicuously  undressed.  In  some  in- 
stances the  skirts  do  not  answer  to  the  roll  call  of 
garments,  and  in  others  the  upper  dress  does 
not  respond.  The  first  Baptist  minister  lost  his 
head  through  this  kind  of  dancing,  but  neverthe- 
less I  do  not  hesitate  to  cry  out  against  it,  and  I 
declare  first,  last,  and  always  that  it  is  damnable 
and  the  very  doorway  to  the  houses  of  blackness 
of  darkness. 

Tennyson  immortalized  the  charge  of  the 
Light  Brigade.    Only  a  few  of  the  six  hun- 


THE  BLACKNESS  OF  IMPURITY.  143 


dred  came  back  from  those  Muscovite  guns,  and 
the  fearful  havoc  was  wrought  in  twenty-five 
minutes.  The  field  was  covered  with  dead  and 
dying  men  and  horses.  That  illustrates  the 
short  fight  of  life  and  the  tremendous  heat  of  the 
battle  in  the  city,  and  how  few  come  out  un- 
scarred.  The  increasing  rush  for  gold,  and  the 
barbarous  selfishness  which  forces  young 
women  to  work  in  stores  and  factories  for  star- 
vation wages,  have  much  to  do  with  the  increase 
of  the  number  of  the  fallen.  Scarcely  enough 
wages  is  paid  to  keep  life  in  the  body.  How 
shall  she  clothe  herself  respectably?  That  is 
often  the  problem,  and  unsolved  unless  she  has 
the  courage  of  the  greatest  hero  who  ever  fought 
on  the  blood-stained  battlefields  of  earth.  It  is 
the  business  world  itself  in  our  modern  cities 
which  is  responsible  for  the  mingling  of  these 
snow  crystals  with  the  mud  of  the  streets.  The 
trucks  of  commerce  are  thundering  their  doom 
as  the  heavy  wheels  roll  along  the  pavements. 
The  beginning  of  ruin  is  often  at  the  counter  or 
machine,  and  the  employer  is  indirectly  and 
sometimes  directly  accountable.  God  pity  the 
despairing  soul  in  its  struggle  to  keep  its  physi- 
cal home  pure!    The  mad  rush  for  money  has 


144        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

destroyed  many  a  father's  opportunity  in  his 
home  to  save  his  own  children  from  this  terrible 
fate.  The  parental  duty  is  forgotten.  They  neg- 
lected to  give  the  counsel  and  the  companion- 
ship and  the  care  necessary  to  the  safety  of 
every  family.  The  business  of  the  city  must  be 
made  to  bow  at  the  throne  of  character  and 
render  obeisance  to  the  scepter  of  purity. 

This  whiteness  is  soiled  also  by  the  soot  from 
heart  and  brain  factories;  heart  and  brain  of 
self  and  heart  and  brain  of  others.  What  we  are 
depends  upon  what  we  think,  and  what  we 
think  depends  upon  what  we  see  and  hear  and 
read.  The  eyes  that  rest  upon  the  impure  pic- 
tures of  paper,  or  card,  or  theater  posters  are  the 
doorways  to  an  evil  heart.  Many  theaters,  in 
picture  and  reality,  are  in  the  city  the  destroyers 
of  all  that  is  sweet  and  sacred  in  human  hearts. 
Many  pictorial  papers  and  periodicals  are  the 
devil's  arch-murderers  of  the  pure.  Many  of 
the  stories  and  expressions  carried  on  the  waves 
of  earth's  air,  from  some  lips  to  other  ears,  are 
most  disastrous  in  their  results.  Many  of  the 
newspapers,  with  their  columns  of  scandal  and 
crime,  are  the  evil  agencies  which  reach  the 
greatest  number  and  do  the  greatest  harm. 


THE  BLACKNESS  OF  IMPURITY.  145 

These  lengthened  and  embellished  accounts  of 
the  lowest  and  vilest  happenings  are  scattered 
by  the  million  and  at  the  lowest  price.  They  lie 
on  the  house  table  and  in  the  office  and  hotel 
and  store  and  car,  and  "  lie  "  everywhere.  The 
toiler  has  that  for  his  daily  diet  and  never  reads 
anything  else.  The  idler  feeds  his  hungry  soul 
at  its  table  and  fairly  gormandizes  its  poison, 
sweet  to  his  taste.  The  popular  literature 
of  the  newsstands  to-day  is  stamped  with 
the  same  characteristic  of  impurity  and  is  a 
mighty  factor  in  the  education  of  the  young. 
From  all  these  brain  and  heart  factories  the  soot 
falls  upon  city  life  and  discolors  it.  The  scat- 
tered fragments  of  broken  law  accomplish  the 
same  purpose — the  evil  is  hidden,  but  it  is  mov- 
ing on  in  triumph.  The  officials  scarcely  do 
anything  toward  its  suppression,  and  many  of 
these  sworn  to  enforce  this  law  are  in  complicity 
with  its  violators.  When  they  say  they  are  igno- 
rant, they  are  guilty  of  the  greatest  negligence 
or  basest  falsehood;  presumably  the  latter. 

I  have  seen  buildings  six  stories  high  and  one 
hundred  feet  front,  with  a  white  card  in  every 
window  and  upon  every  door,  "  To  Let  " — but 
those  cards  had  been  there  for  five  years  and  the 


146        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

great  building  was  swarming  with  the  harpies 
of  darkness  and  their  consorts.  The  saloons 
have  additions  and  upper  stories.  These  houses 
stand  on  the  streets  by  the  score,  known  and  un- 
molested. There  are  hotels  by  name  which  are 
the  throne  of  the  vile  goddess.  I  believe  in  the 
gospel  for  the  saving  of  every  Magdalene,  but 
the  law  is  a  part  of  the  gospel.  Tracts  and  mis- 
sions can  accomplish  but  little  in  this  cleansing 
of  human  society,  unless  the  Christian  part  of 
our  world  has  power  enough  to  insist  upon  the 
enforcement  of  the  law.  You  might  as  well  go 
in  the  jungle  and  pat  a  cobra  on  the  neck  as  to 
touch  most  of  this  monster  iniquity  with  any- 
thing else  than  the  shotgun  method. 

Unrighteous  discrimination  comes  in  contact 
with  the  crystals  of  purity.  In  the  white  light  of 
heaven's  throne  a  man's  sin  appears  precisely 
the  same  as  a  woman's,  and  impurity  is  as  black 
upon  Fifth  Avenue  as  the  Bowery.  The  world 
has  two  codes  of  morals,  feminine  and  mascu- 
line, but  that  distinction  is  not  recognized  in  the 
other  world.  Gender  has  no  right  to  destroy 
justice.  The  vials  of  wrath  are  poured  upon  the 
heads  of  unfortunate  women  while  the  most 
royal  welcome  is  given  to  the  man  who  is  notori- 


THE  BLACKNESS  OF  IMPURITY.       1 47 

ously  unclean.  That  is  the  accursed  creed  of 
this  hour.  Injustice,  injustice,  basest  injustice! 
Hiss  at  the  woman — but  kiss  the  man!  The 
poor  woman  who  has  been  sent  out  to  shame  by 
a  single  misstep  is  despised  by  modern  society. 
Her  masculine  companion  may  be  a  moral  leper 
beneath  his  broadcloth,  and  yet  soft  hands  clasp 
his  and  bright  eyes  look  into  his  and  rosy  lips 
welcome  him  into  the  best  homes  of  the  city.  If 
womankind  errs  from  the  path  of  purity,  even 
her  own  sex  look  upon  her  with  the  meanest 
hatred.  The  verdict  of  this  world  is  that 
"  The  crudest  thing  on  God's  green  earth  is 
one  woman  to  another."  Shame!  shame!  a 
thousand  times  shame!  this  sad  condition  and 
its  unmeasured  evil  in  society!  To  call  her 
"abandoned"  is  unchristian  and  criminally 
unjust.  Souls  may  be  lost,  but  they  may  be 
found.  Whittier's  "  Cry  of  the  Lost  Soul "  is 
true.  The  traveler  in  the  South  American  for- 
est heard  the  cry,  and  was  told  by  his  guide,  "  It 
is  not  a  bird;  it  is  the  cry  of  a  lost  soul  ": 

"  Dim  burns  the  boat-lamp  ;  shadows  deep  and  round, 
From  giant  trees  with  snake-like  creepers  wound, 
And  the  black  water  glides  without  a  sound. 
But  in  the  traveler's  heart  a  secret  sense 


I4§        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


Of  nature  plastic  to  benign  intents, 

And,  an  eternal  good  in  Providence, 

Lifts  to  the  starry  calm  of  Heaven  his  eyes  ; 

And  lo  !  rebuking  all  earth's  ominous  cries, 

The  Cross  of  pardon  lights  the  tropic  skies. 

"  Father  of  all,"  he  urges  his  strong  plea, 

"  Thou  lovest  all  ;  thy  erring  child  may  be 

Lost  to  himself,  but  never  lost  to  Thee. 

All  souls  are  Thine  ;  the  wings  of  morning  bear 

None  from  that  Presence  which  is  everywhere, 

Nor  Hell  itself  can  hide,  for  Thou  art  there." 

Six  members  of  the  New  York  Legislature 
were  recently  arrested  one  night  in  the  same 
house  of  ill-fame.  The  courts  excused  them,  and 
every  reception  room  in  the  Empire  State  is  open 
to  them — but  what  of  their  associates  in  sin? 
They  are  convicted  by  the  courts  and  forever 
abandoned  by  society,  and  even  neglected  by  the 
Church  of  Christ  who  Himself  lifted  their  sis- 
ters from  the  depths  into  which  they  had  fallen 
,and  bade  his  followers  to  seek  and  save  all  the 
lost,  even  those  whom  a  heartless  world  and  an 
unjust  society  ostracize. 

In  the  story  of  the  "  Scarlet  Letter,"  Hester 
Prynne  wears  the  scarlet  letter  on  her  breast, 
and  all  the  village  knew  it,  while  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale  wears  the  scarlet  letter  hidden  by  his  gar- 
ments, but  burned  into  his  bosom,  and  bears  his 


THE  BLACKNESS  OF  IMPURITY. 


149 


shame  in  his  own  heart.  And  that  story  closes 
at  the  last,  coming  not  to  its  tragical,  but  to  its 
resplendent  conclusion.  He  who  has  struggled 
with  the  threatened  public  shame  so  long  con- 
quers himself  and  goes  up  into  the  very  pillory 
where  once  she  stood  alone  in  her  disgrace,  and, 
standing  by  her  side,  holds  the  child  of  their  vice 
by  the  hand,  and  confesses  his  sin  before  all 
those  that  had  done  him  honor  and  reverenced 
his  very  footprints.  When  the  man  takes  his 
stand  in  the  pillory  by  the  side  of  the  woman 
and  the  scarlet  letter  is  on  the  breast  of  the  one  as 
on  the  breast  of  the  other,  and  both  alike  bear  the 
shame,  we  shall  find  the  remedy.  When  those 
human  hounds  dragged  the  sinner  into  Christ's 
presence  and  wanted  to  tear  her  frail  form  into 
shreds  and  hurl  stones  at  her  until  death 
should  change  her  torment  into  the  torture  of 
demons,  the  divine  lips  carried  condemnation  to 
their  own  hearts  when  He  said:  "  Dare  not 
throw  a  single  stone  at  her  until  you  yourselves 
are  perfectly  clean."  His  loving  eye  turned 
upon  the  unfortunate  soul  left  alone  in  His 
presence.  "  Neither  do  I  condemn  thee,  go  and 
sin  no  more."  Oh,  infinite  pity!  oh,  love  of  the 
Cross!  to  hate  sin  but  to  love  the  sinner.  The 


150        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

snowflake  falls  into  the  impurity  of  earth,  but 
the  forces  of  the  upper  world  draw  it  back  again 
into  the  clouds.  So  it  may  be  with  this  white- 
ness of  the  immortal  soul. 

u  Rescue  the  perishing,  care  for  the  dying, 
Snatch  them  in  pity  from  sin  and  the  grave  ; 
Weep  o'er  the  erring  one,  lift  up  the  fallen  ; 
Tell  them  of  Jesus,  the  mighty  to  save. 

"  Down  in  the  human  heart,  crushed  by  the  tempter, 
Feelings  lie  buried  that  grace  can  restore  ; 
Touched  by  a  loving  heart,  wakened  by  kindness, 
Chords  that  were  broken  will  vibrate  once  more." 


CHAPTER  IX. 


THE   SMOKE   OF  FACTORIES. 

I  stood  on  an  elevation  overlooking  the  city, 
and  beheld  the  great  black  clouds  of  smoke 
which  arose  from  ten  thousand  chimneys  and 
covered  its  seething  life  like  the  darkness  of  a 
shroud.  They  settled  down  upon  shining  dome 
and  chiseled  granite,  and  lofty  steeple  and  beau- 
tiful building,  and  majestic  ship  and  arching 
bridge,  until  they  were  almost  hidden  from  vision 
and  all  their  splendor  was  forgotten  in  the 
thought  of  that  other  cloud  of  smoke;  just  as 
real,  just  as  black,  and  far  more  destructive  of 
beauty  and  life  than  that  which  rose  above  the 
factories  and  fell  upon  the  city  like  a  pall:  the 
smoke  which  issues  from  the  imprisoned  fires  of 
the  human  heart  instead  of  the  iron  furnace. 
The  factory  smoke  above  the  city  tells  of  the  fire 
beneath  the  brick  and  stone  struggling  to  break 
its  shackles  and  burst  through  those  prison  bars 
151 


I52        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

and  destroy  the  entire  city  itself,  in  one  vast  con- 
flagration. The  other  smoke  tells  the  same 
story  of  raging  fires  beneath,  only  hindered  in 
that  work  of  ruin  by  strongest  guards;  the 
cement  and  stone  of  law  and  custom  hinder  the 
furious  fires  from  shooting  forth  their  hungry 
tongues  and  licking  up  the  last  remnants  of  the 
sacred  and  the  beautiful.  I  stood  above  the 
clouds  and  from  that  height  I  saw  God's  sky, 
cloudless  and  resplendent  with  its  sapphire  glory. 
The  music  of  the  upper  world  gave  me  the  key- 
note, and  I  sang  with  Robert  Browning: 

*'  Meanwhile,  if  I  stoop 
Into  a  dark,  tremendous  sea  of  cloud, 
It  is  but  for  a  time  ;  I  pressed  God's  lamp 
Close  to  my  breast — its  splendor,  soon  or  late, 
Will  pierce  the  gloom  ;  I  shall  emerge  one  day  ! 
You  understand  me  ?    I  have  said  enough.*' 

In  this  great  laboratory  of  nature  I  analyzed 
some  of  this  factory  smoke,  and  discovered  one 
of  its  elements  to  be  a  false  impression  of  labor. 
It  works  an  immeasurable  amount  of  evil  among 
the  so-called  workingmen  to  have  them  desig- 
nated by  that  term.  He  is  not  only  a  working- 
man  who  toils  with  his  hands;  he  works  just  as 
much,  and  most  often  with  a  greater  strain,  who 


THE  SMOKE  OF  FACTORIES.  153 

works  with  his  brains  or  his  heart.  If  the  one 
man  does  sweat  outside,  the  other  man  sweats 
inside.  It  is  work  to  push  a  pen  as  well  as  a 
plane ;  to  study  the  markets  as  well  as  swing  the 
hammer;  to  save  men  as  well  as  to  sew  their 
garments.  One  of  the  breezes  which  will  clear 
our  air  of  some  of  this  sooty  smoke  is  every 
man's  respect  for  every  other  man's  labor,  re- 
spect of  the  man  who  works  with  his  hands  for 
the  man  who  works  with  his  brain;  and  the  man 
who  works  with  his  brain  is  never  to  look  down 
upon  the  calloused  hand.  He  who  stands  by 
the  factory  machine  breathes  the  atmosphere  of 
discontent,  because  of  envy  of  the  man  at  his 
desk,  or  in  his  study,  whom  he  supposes  to  re- 
ceive more  than  his  share  of  bread,  and  that 
without  earning  it.  It  is  an  utterly  false  and 
hostile  idea  of  labor.  Brain  &  Co.  do  success- 
ful business  because  they  always  toil  more  than 
ten  hours  a  day,  and  never  strike ;  if  they  do,  they 
fail.  Work  is  work  without  regard  to  the  tools 
a  man  uses.  That  spring  of  truth  with  its  sur- 
rounding grass  and  flowers  would  be  an  oasis 
in  the  desert  of  modern  society.  Its  shade  tree 
would  be  the  fact  that  work  is  man's  best  friend 
instead  of  his  greatest  enemy.    Labor  walks  by 


154        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

man's  side  day  by  day  as  his  guardian  angel;  it 
is  the  protector  of  his  entire  nature;  body,  mind, 
and  soul  are  only  safe  in  its  presence.  It  holds 
a  glistening  sword  between  the  man  and  his 
tempter.  The  path  to  ruin  is  the  path  of  idleness. 

In  this  factory  smoke  I  discovered  the  exist- 
ence of  murderous  perils.  There  are  fire-traps 
of  buildings,  which  ought  to  be  torn  down  by 
the  hands  of  government,  and  the  erection  of 
their  like  forever  forbidden.  They  stand  by  the 
side  of  our  streets,  waiting  for  the  opportune  mo- 
ment in  which  to  bring  sudden  and  awful  death 
to  their  unsuspecting  victims.  Many  of  these 
factory  buildings  were  planned  by  the  architects 
of  hell,  and  built  by  greedy  and  blood-stained 
h  4s  of  earth.  The  least  that  could  be  done 
for  the  toiling  thousands  would  be  to  throw 
about  them  safety,  while  bearing  the  burdens  of 
those  long  hours.  Rarely  does  the  question  of 
good  ventilation  enter  into  the  plans.  The 
foulest  air  most  often  is  there  breathed  by  men, 
women,  and  children  until  this  sure  poison  has 
done  its  deadly  work,  and  the  death  certificate 
tells  a  cruel  falsehood.  The  unseen  murderer 
is  constantly  pushing  his  way  through  the 
crowded  institutions  into  sweat-shops  and  tene- 


THE  SMOKE  OF  FACTORIES.  15 5 

ment  houses,  and  furnishing  a  large  part  of  the 
work  for  undertakers  and  grave-diggers.  If  the 
history  of  the  Potter's  Field  could  be  written, 
one  of  its  first  chapters  would  be,  "  The  Factory 
Victims."  There  are  certain  kinds  of  factory 
work  which  of  themselves  are  known  to  shorten 
life.  Particles  of  the  material  used  furnish  the 
strychnine  and  the  belladonna.  Much  of  this 
homicide  might  be,  and  ought  to  be,  prevented 
by  expense  and  skill.  The  utmost  effort  in  a 
society  which  is  called  human  is  not  too  great  to 
be  exercised  in  this  humane  work. 

It  is  time  that  a  compulsory  education  was 
instituted  for  the  teaching  of  employers  and  offi- 
cials. The  alphabet  in  that  school  should  be 
that  a  human  body  is  of  infinitely  more  value 
than  all  the  wood  or  stone  of  forest  and  moun- 
tain; that  human  blood  is  worth  more  than  a 
building  of  diamonds  or  the  most  precious 
materials  from  the  miner's  hand;  that  a  creature 
made  in  the  image  and  likeness  of  God  is  more 
precious  than  the  palace  of  God  itself. 

The  analysis  found  also  an  evil  independence 
in  the  smoke.  Every  man  is  dependent  on  the 
other  man.  That  is  a  truth  as  old  as  the  lead 
pencil  in  the  Boston  Museum  which  Noah  used 


MIDNIGHT  IN  A   GREAT  CITY. 


to  check  off  the  animals  with  when  they  entered 
the  Ark.  Independence  is  absolutely  impossible, 
much  less  the  independence  between  employer 
and  employee.  By  ignoring  this  fundamental 
truth  in  society,  a  large  part  of  the  difficulties 
now  existing  in  the  factory  world  is  caused. 

A  factory-owner  in  Brooklyn  said,  "  I  take  no 
interest  in  my  men,  because  they  do  not  take  any 
interest  in  me.  There  is  not  a  man  of  them  who 
would  not  leave  me  in  the  lurch  to-morrow,  if  he 
could  get  five  cents  more  a  day  from  some  other 
man."  The  clock  in  his  office  had  not  ticked 
away  fifteen  minutes  of  time,  before  one  of  his 
men  in  the  other  room  said,  in  the  same  ear, 
"  We  do  not  care  anything  about  his  interests, 
because  he  would  let  us  all  go  to-morrow,  if  he 
could  get  other  men  to  work  for  five  cents  less 
a  day."  The  cloud  settled  down  until  it  touched 
the  very  roof  of  that  institution  and  shut  out 
the  larger  part  of  heaven's  light.  The  employer's 
welfare  is  wrapped  up  in  the  welfare  of  his 
employees;  and  the  employees  are  dependent 
upon  the  interest  of  the  employer.  When  the 
capitalist  owned  the  laborer,  that  was  slavery. 
When  the  capitalist  owned  the  land  to  which 
the  laborer  was  attached,  that  was  feudalism. 


THE  SMOKE  OF  FACTORIES.  157 

When  that  system  was  abolished,  the  wages  sys- 
tem was  substituted.  One  class  of  men  owns  the 
tools,  and  another  class  of  men  works  with  the 
tools.  The  relation  between  these  two  classes — 
the  one  which  owns  the  tools,  and  the  one  which 
works  with  them — is  the  labor  question.  No 
sharp  line  can  be  drawn  between  them,  because 
of  the  innumerable  cross-lines  which  create  a 
blessed  dependence.  Nor  is  it  true  that  a  few 
men  own  all  the  tools  and  the  many  do  all  the 
work. 

There  are  eighteen  thousand  employees  on  the 
Pennsylvania  Railroad  and  nineteen  thousand 
stockholders.  The  savings  of  the  workman  are 
invested  in  the  tools  of  industry.  The  workman 
may  be  the  owner  of  one  tool  while  working 
with  that  of  another.  This  intermingling  helps 
to  create  this  interdependence.  The  one  class 
is  most  vitally  related  to  the  other  class.  The 
interests  of  one,  in  the  last  analysis,  are  the 
interests  of  the  other.  The  welfare  of  society 
depends  largely  upon  this  just  recognition. 
The  chain  that  binds  humanity  together  cannot 
thus  be  hammered  and  cut  with  impunity.  He 
is  the  enemy  of  society  and  his  own  greatest 
enemy  who  recently  said,  in  the  spirit  of  his 


158        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

Satanic  Majesty,  "  If  you  employed  on  a  large 
scale,  you  would  soon  find  that  you  ceased  to 
look  at  your  men  as  men.  They  are  simply  so 
much  producing  power.  I  dori't  propose  to 
abuse  them,  but  I've  no  time  even  to  remember 
their  faces,  much  less  their  names."  That  spirit 
was  born  in  perdition  and  is  implanted  in  the 
hearts  of  thousands,  and  is  working  out  into  one 
of  the  greatest  evils  of  the  present  day.  This 
evil  independence  and  disregard  of  our  fellow- 
men  causes  some  of  the  blackest  smoke  in  our 
sky.  Side  by  side  with  it  floats  the  darkness  of 
injustice.  What  is  more  needed  in  the  social 
world  than  justice?  There  is  a  tendency  to  sub- 
stitute philanthropy  for  justice. 

The  debtor  calls  himself  a  saint  because  he 
is  so  generous,  but  he  has  simply  been  paying 
his  debts.  Let  those  debts  be  paid  in  the  name 
of  honesty,  rather  than  charity.  Manhood  does 
not  want  charity,  but  it  craves  and  deserves  jus- 
tice. It  has  more  value  in  it  than  anything  else 
for  the  removal  of  destitution,  distress,  and 
despair.  Just  treatment,  just  hours,  just  wages, 
just  surroundings,  just  everything,  instead  of  un- 
just almsgiving.    It  is  the  one  simple  remedy; 


THE  SMOKE  OF  FACTORIES.  159 


it  is  the  only  adequate  medicine;  it  is  a  positive 
preventive. 

"  All  hail  the  dawn  of  a  new  day  breaking, 

When  a  strong  armed  nation  shall  take  away 
The  weary  burdens  from  backs  that  are  aching 
With  maximum  work  and  minimum  pay. 

"  When  no  man  is  honored  who  hoards  his  millions  ; 
When  no  man  feasts  on  another's  toil  ; 
And  God's  poor,  suffering,  starving  billions 
Shall  share  His  riches  of  sun  and  soil. 

"  There  is  gold  for  all  in  the  world's  broad  bosom, 
There  is  food  for  all  in  the  world's  great  store  ; 
Enough  is  provided,  if  rightly  divided  ; 

Let  each  man  take  what  he  needs — no  more. 

"  Shame  on  the  miser  with  unused  riches, 
Who  robs  the  toiler  to  swell  his  hoard  ; 
Who  beats  down  the  wage  of  the  digger  of  ditches, 
And  steals  the  bread  from  the  poor  man's  board. 

4t  Shame  on  the  owner  of  mines  whose  cruel 

And  selfish  measures  have  brought  him  wealth  ; 
While  the  ragged  wretches  who  dig  his  fuel 
Are  robbed  of  comfort,  and  hope,  and  health. 

"  Shame  on  the  ruler  who  rides  in  his  carriage, 
Bought  by  the  labor  of  half-paid  men — 
Men  who  are  shut  out  of  home  and  marriage, 
And  are  herded  like  sheep  in  a  hovel  pen." 

Carlyle  says,  "  Justice,  Justice:  woe  betides  us 
everywhere  when,  for  this  reason  or  for  that,  we 


160        MIDXIGIIT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

fail  to  do  justice.  No  beneficence,  benevolence, 
or  other  virtuous  contribution,  will  make  good 
the  want,  and  in  what  a  rate  of  terrible  geo- 
metrical progression,  far  beyond  our  poor  com- 
putation, any  act  of  injustice,  once  done  by  us, 
grows;  rooting  itself  ever  anew,  spreading  ever 
anew,  like  a  banyan  tree — blasting  all  life  under 
it,  for  it  is  a  poison  tree.  There  is  but  one  thing 
needed  for  the  world;  but  that  one  is  indispen- 
sable. Justice,  Justice,  in  the  name  of  Heaven, 
give  us  Justice,  and  we  live;  give  us  only  coun- 
terfeits of  it,  or  succedanea  for  it,  and  we  die." 

We  repeat  his  prayer  at  the  very  foot  of  the 
Cross,  and  after  our  Amen  we  say,  "  May  the  sun 
of  that  day  speedily  rise  in  our  sky  when  there 
shall  be  a  just  sharing  in  the  profits  of  toil  by 
the  means  of  co-operation  or  some  other  Heaven- 
dictated  plan  for  the  relief  of  the  toiling  millions, 
now  under  the  scepter  of  cruel-hearted  injus- 
tice." When  one  man  gets  immensely  rich,  and 
the  other  man  gets  starvingly  poor  in  the  same 
factory,  something  is  criminally  wrong. 

In  the  recent  great  strike  in  the  clothing  fac- 
tories and  sweat-shops,  basest  injustice  was  re- 
vealed. It  was  a  strike  for  life.  No,  not  for  life, 
but  a  mere  existence.    The  daily  paper  said  of 


THE  SMOKE  OF  FACTORIES. 


161 


these  oppressed  people:  "They  are  sordid. 
What  little  money  they  get  they  take  home  to 
their  families.  They  seem  never  to  realize  that 
the  first  instinct  of  a  real  freeman  should  be  to 
drown  injustice  and  make  himself  as  happy  as 
a  plutocrat.  They  stand  about  with  yellow  faces 
and  rather  suspicious  looks.  Nearly  all  have 
gray  hairs,  even  the  younger  men.  Few  live  to 
be  white-headed.  They  are  pale,  thin,  and 
hollow-chested.  A  policeman  of  average  size 
can  push  five  or  six  of  them  along  quite  com- 
fortably. Please  get  into  your  mind  the  picture 
of  thousands  of  men,  who  are  never  well  fed, 
never  well  housed,  never  able  to  save  anything, 
never  free  from  care,  never  treated  with  kind- 
ness or  even  humanity.  Remember  that  they 
live  on  this  island,  have  the  right  to  vote  as  you 
have,  and  may  need  to  be  taken  into  account 
some  fine  day." 

A  pale-faced,  intelligent  workman  said:  "I 
have  sat  for  twenty-eight  years  at  the  machine, 
working  from  ten  to  sixteen  hours  a  day.  It  is 
hard  on  the  nerves.  Few  men  stand  it  as  I  have 
done.  They  die  of  consumption.  I  am  forty- 
six,  and  you  see  how  gray  I  am.  Of  course,  I  am 
very  strong,  as  you  see.    You  did  not  see  one 


1 62        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


man  as  big  as  I  am  among  the  strikers."  That 
was  true.  The  talking  striker  was  as  big  as  a  big 
policeman,  with  a  chest  that  had  been  powerful 
before  the  machine  made  it  shrink,  and  a  face 
unusually  strong.  He  was  an  exceptional  striker, 
chosen  spokesman  because  he  could  talk  best  for 
the  others.  "  We  shall  win  this  strike,"  he  said. 
"  Of  course  we  must  win.  We  have  India- 
rubber  stomachs.  Strikers  with  India-rubber 
stomachs  cannot  be  beaten.  If  we  get  nothing 
to  eat,  our  stomachs  shrink  a  little  more.  Our 
children's  stomachs  learn  to  do  the  same."  He 
did  not  talk  in  any  tone  of  passion  or  of  exag- 
geration. There  is  among  the  strikers  an  unfor- 
tunate Oriental  tendency  to  exaggerate  their 
sorrows  and  thus  wreaken  the  sympathy  of  more 
exact,  cold-blooded  Westerners.  This  man  was 
free  from  the  tendency.  "  Our  main  trouble 
lies  in  the  fact  that  our  work  is  learned  too 
easily.  In  our  trade  a  man  can  be  taught  to  be 
useful  as  a  presser  in  three  days.  This  means 
that  you  can  get  all  the  pressers  you  want 
from  immigrant  ships.  Other  branches  of  the 
work  can  be  taught  in  three  weeks.  I  am  a 
skilled  mechanic.    I  earn  the  highest  wages  paid 


THE  SMOKE  OF  FACTORIES.  163 

in  the  union.  All  that  I  know  can  be  learned  as 
well  as  I  know  it  in  six  months.  Work  is  so 
plentiful  that  manufacturers  no  longer  make  up 
great  stocks  in  advance.  What  they  want  is 
made  on  short  notice,  and  we  have  nothing  to  do 
outside  of  the  busiest  season. 

"  The  middlemen,  in  our  opinion,  make  our 
lives  miserable.  They  get  whatever  profit  the 
workmen  might  make  from  the  great  dealers 
and  they  put  in  the  capital.  A  big  house  wants 
five  thousand  garments.  The  middleman  says, 
'  I  will  make  them  for  a  dollar  and  a  half  a  piece/ 
He  does  it,  he  hires  us,  and  he  must  squeeze  that 
work  out  of  us  in  addition  to  his  profit.  The 
big  dealers  say  they  cannot  be  bothered  dealing 
with  the  individual  workman,  and  they  must  have 
a  sweater  on  whom  they  can  rely.  I  suppose 
that  is  so.  But  if  they  would  take  the  trouble 
to  hire  us  directly,  we  could  live  at  the  rate  they 
pay.  There  is  not  enough  for  us  and  the  middle- 
men to  live  on.  Sometimes  the  middlemen  have 
almost  as  hard  a  time  to  make  a  living  by  sweat- 
ing us  as  we  do  by  working.  Woman's  work  is 
a  bad  thing,  of  course ;  it  adds  to  the  over  supply 
of  labor.    About  wages,  our  work  is  all  divided. 


164        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


Each  man  docs  a  small  part  of  the  garment. 
That  is  what  makes  it  so  easy  to  teach  a  man  the 
trade.    No  wide  knowledge  is  required. 

"  The  principal  man  is  the  operator.  He  sits 
all  day  at  the  sewing  machine.  He  sews  up  the 
coats  that  are  given  to  him  basted  and  ready. 
He  gets,  under  the  rule  for  which  we  are  fight- 
ing, $15.00  a  week  for  working  ten  hours  a  day. 
Counting  the  dull  times,  he  may  make  $9.00  a 
week  through  the  year,  if  he  is  a  good  operator 
and  machine  hand.  The  operators  supply  most 
of  the  consumptives.  They  all  get  to  spitting 
blood,  and  a  great  many  are  crippled  with  rheu- 
matism because  of  the  constant  working  of  the 
hands  and  feet.  The  baster,  who  prepares  the 
coats  for  the  operator,  is  paid  $13.00  a  week  at 
union  rates.  He  can  average  $8.00,  if  a  good 
man.  The  presser  is  paid  $10.00  a  week  and 
averages  $7.00.  The  man  finisher  gets  $9.00  a 
week  and  averages  $6.00.  He  bastes  edges  and 
armholes,  and  fixes  up  little  things.  The  fell- 
hand  fells  the  coat;  that  is,  she  does  the  little 
finishing  touches  that  must  be  done  by  hand, 
puts  on  buttons,  and  does  a  little  sewing  here  and 
there.    She  averages  $3.00  a  week  and  is  paid 


THE  SMOKE  OF  FACTORIES.  165 

$5.00  under  the  union.  Little  boys  and  girls 
pull  bastings  for  $2.00  a  week.  The  girls  who 
work  as  fell  hands  range  from  sixteen  to  twenty- 
six  years  of  age."  He  continued,  "  I  do  not 
suppose  that  anyone  thinks  that  the  present 
system  will  last.  Machinery  and  the  number 
of  unemployed  grow  together  day  by  day. 
The  man  unemployed  becomes  a  drunkard, 
a  thief,  a  tramp.  There  are  a  million  and 
a  half  of  tramps  in  America.  There  will  be 
millions  more,  if  things  go  on.  Something  will 
have  to  be  done.  The  rich  will  realize  this  and 
do  it.  I  suppose  that  everything  will  be  run  by 
the  government  as  by  a  big  corporation,  and 
that  statistics  will  decide  how  much  work  each 
man  must  do.  Men  will  be  cared  for  when  they 
are  too  old  to  work.  There  are  enough  bread 
and  clothing  in  the  country  for  everybody.  I  do 
not  believe  that  anybody  objects  to  having  it  dis- 
tributed in  return  for  labor,  if  he  himself  can 
have  as  much  as  he  ever  did.  But  all  that  is  a 
long  way  off.  Just  now  we  want  to  win  this 
strike  and  get  an  average  pay  of  $6.80  a  week 
six  months  in  the  year." 
A  consumptive,  round-shouldered,  grave-seek- 


1 66         MID XI GUT  IN  A   GREAT  CITY. 


ing  man,  with  despair  on  every  feature,  held  up 
before  me  in  his  skeleton  fingers  a  man's  coat, 
which  he  had  just  finished.  I  asked  how  much 
he  had  received  for  the  making  of  that  garment, 
and  he  replied,  "  Sixteen  cents."  I  looked  at 
him  and  at  the  miserable  surroundings  of  that 
infernal  sweat-shop,  and  then  raised  my  eyes 
heavenward  and  cried,  "  Oh,  my  God,  touch  this 
most  cruel  injustice  of  earth  with  Thy  almighty 
scepter,  and  command  it  in  the  name  of  civiliza- 
tion and  Christianity  to  forever  depart."  A 
friend  said  to  me,  "  Out  of  that  coat  a  certain 
rich  manufacturer  makes  his  immense  wealth." 
I  replied,  "  Yes,  but  his  carriages  roll  over  and 
his  horses  trample  upon  a  pavement  of  human 
flesh,  and  his  palace  is  built  out  of  human  skele- 
tons, and  his  wife's  diamonds  are  condensed 
human  blood."  In  many  of  our  factories  the 
sharpened  needle  and  other  implements  are 
piercing  through  human  fingers  into  human 
hearts  and  drawing  the  last  drop  of  life's  blood 
from  human  veins.  Oh,  Justice,  Justice!  come 
to  the  throne  in  thy  own  name,  by  thy  own 
right. 

I  discovered  in  this  chemical  analysis  a  white 
slavery : 


THE  SMOKE  OF  FACTORIES. 


167 


"  Slavery  aint  o'  nairy  color, 

'Taint  the  hide  that  makes  it  wus  ; 
All  it  keers  fer  in  a  feller 

'S  jest  to  make  him  fill  its  pus." 

I  have  heard  the  snap  of  the  crimson  lash 
above  human  backs  in  the  factories  of  the  North, 
as  distinctly  and  as  cruelly  as  it  was  ever  heard 
above  the  back  of  the  black  on  the  plantations  of 
the  South.  The  slave  of  the  South  never  knew 
at  least  some  of  the  bitterness  of  the  slave  in  the 
North.  In  poverty-stricken  quarters  I  saw  a 
mother  and  daughter,  with  pale  faces  and  broken 
hearts,  without  a  relative  upon  earth,  compelled 
to  earn  their  bread  in  that  factory  branch.  They 
were  making  men's  pants,  at  the  devil's  price  of 
$1.50  per  dozen  pair.  By  furnishing  their  own 
thread  and  their  own  heat  for  pressing,  and  their 
own  machine  for  sewing,  they  could  make  six  or 
eight  pair  in  a  day  and  a  part  of  the  night.  The 
winter's  wind  whistled  through  the  shattered  old 
building  and  I  heard  its  mournful  sound,  singing: 

"  With  fingers  weary  and  worn, 
With  eyelids  heavy  and  red, 
A  woman  sat  in  unwomanly  rags, 
Plying  her  needle  and  thread — 


MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


Stitch,  stitch,  stitch, 

In  poverty,  hunger,  and  dirt  ; 
And  still  with  a  voice  of  dolorous  pitch 

She  sang  the  '  Song  of  the  Shirt.' 

'  Work,  work,  work, 

While  the  cock  is  crowing  aloof, 
And  work,  work,  work, 

Till  the  stars  shine  through  the  roof. 
It's  oh,  to  be  a  slave 

Along  with  the  barbarous  Turk, 
Where  woman  has  never  a  soul  to  save, 

If  this  is  Christian  work. 

1  Work,  work,  work, 

Till  the  brain  begins  to  swim  ; 
Work,  work,  work, 

Till  the  eyes  are  heavy  and  dim. 

'  Stitch,  stitch,  stitch, 

In  poverty,  hunger,  and  dirt, 
Sewing  at  once  with  a  double  thread, 
A  shroud  as  well  as  a  shirt. 

'  But  why  do  I  talk  of  death, 
That  phantom  of  grisly  bone? 

I  hardly  fear  his  terrible  shape, 
It  seems  so  like  my  own, 

Because  of  the  fast  I  keep  ; 

O  God,  that  bread  should  be  so  dear, 

And  flesh  and  blood  so  cheap. 

1  Work,  work,  work, 
My  labor  never  flags  ; 


THE  SMOKE  OF  FACTORIES.  169 

And  what  are  its  wages  ?    A  bed  of  straw, 

A  crust  of  bread — and  rags, 
That  shattered  roof — and  this  naked  floor — 

A  table — a  broken  chair — 
And  a  wall  so  blank  my  shadow  I  thank, 

For  sometimes  falling  there. 
Work,  work,  work, 

From  weary  chime  to  chime. 
Work,  work,  work, 

As  prisoners  work  for  crime." 

One  woman  recently  said :  "  I  don't  see  how 
anybody  can  much  longer  keep  soul  and  body 
together."  "  We  don't,"  said  one  of  the  other 
women,  turning  suddenly.  "  I  got  rid  of  my 
soul  long  ago,  such  as  it  was.  Who's  got  time 
to  think  about  souls,  grinding  away  here  four- 
teen hours  a  day  to  turn  out  contract  goods? 
'Taint  souls  that  count.  It's  bodies  that  can 
be  driven  and  half  starved  and  driven  still, 
till  they  drop  in  their  tracks.  I  would  try  the 
river  if  I  was  not  driving  to  pay  a  doctor's  bill 
for  my  three  that  went  with  the  fever.  Before 
that  I  was  driving  to  put  food  in  their  mouths. 
I  never  owed  a  cent  to  no  man.  I  have  been 
honest  and  paid  as  I  went,  and  done  a  good  turn 
when  I  could.  Had  I  chosen  the  other  thing 
while  I  had  a  pretty  face  of  my  own,  I  would 


170        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

have  had  ease  and  comfort  and  a  quick  death. 
The  river's  the  best  place,  I'm  thinking,  for  them 
that  wants  ease.  Such  a  life  as  this  is  not  liv- 
ing." "  She  don't  mean  it,"  the  first  speaker 
said  apologetically;  "  she  knows  there  is  better 
times  ahead."  "  Yes,  the  kind  you  will  find  in 
the  next  room.  Take  a  look  in  there,  man,  and 
then  tell  me  what  we  are  going  to  do."  In  the 
next  room  was  found  a  pantaloon  maker, 
huddled  in  an  old  shawl,  finishing  the  last  of  a 
dozen,  which,  when  taken  back,  would  give  her 
money  for  fire  and  food.  She  had  been  ill  for 
three  days.  The  bed  was  an  old  mattress  on  a 
drygoods  box  in  the  corner,  and  save  for  the 
chair  on  which  she  sat,  and  the  stove,  the  room 
was  empty.  "  Even  that,"  she  said,  with  a 
glance  at  the  miserable  bed,  "  is  more  than  I 
had  for  a  long  while.  I  pawned  everything  be- 
fore my  husband  died,  except  the  machine." 

Such  slavery  and  its  companion  poverty  are  the 
mother  of  despair,  grim,  sullen,  and  stupefying. 
Such  slavery  mocks  American  liberty  and  calls 
it  a  farce.  Such  slavery  makes  it  not  the  land  of 
the  free,  but  it  is  still  the  home  of  the  brave. 
There  are  also  other  shackles  in  the  factories 


THE  SMOKE  OF  FACTORIES.  17 1 

which  are  placed  upon  human  hands  and  feet, 
and  which  destroy  freedom.  The  leaders 
among  the  workingmen  are  sometimes  their 
worst  enemies,  by  being  their  most  oppressive 
masters.  Where  men  are  compelled  to  do  that 
which  is  against  their  will  and  in  face  of  the  star- 
vation of  family,  it  is  no  longer  freedom.  If  a 
man  cannot  work  when  he  wills,  he  is  a  slave.  If 
a  selfish,  unwise  leader  can  force  hundreds  of 
men  to  drop  their  tools,  and  they  in  turn  forbid 
other  men  to  pick  up  those  tools,  the  sweet  sound 
of  liberty  is  drowned  in  that  clamor  and  noise  of 
oppression.  There  is  a  necessity  for  unions 
which  foster  righteous  effort  in  this  struggle  for 
the  alleviation  of  misery  connected  with  our 
present  system.  But  alas!  alas!  the  unions  and 
the  leaders  are  often  the  fires  beneath  the  sur- 
face which  make  the  black  sooty  cloud  to  rise. 

May  the  blood  of  Bunker  Hill  and  Gettysburg 
not  have  been  in  vain!  May  liberty  touch  every 
square  inch  of  space  in  all  our  factories  and 
every  grain  of  sand  upon  all  this  land,  from  the 
Atlantic  seaboard  to  the  Pacific  slope !  I  saw  in 
the  factory  the  Carpenter  of  Nazareth  standing 
at  His  bench  and  bearing  the  same  burdens  as 


I72         MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

His  toiling  fellow-men;  nerves  aching  and 
muscles  strained;  and  as  He  pushed  the  plane,  I 
heard  Him  say,  "  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that 
labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you 
rest." 


CHAPTER  X. 


THE  GLOOM  OF  THE  PRISON  CELL. 

The  darkness  of  a  prison  cell  is  midnight 
gloom.  The  feeble  rays  of  light  that  steal 
through  iron  bars  are  only  a  mockery.  All  the 
brightness  of  life  has  taken  its  flight  from  the 
captives'  cell  and  the  captives'  soul.  The  sweet 
sound  of  liberty  is  still  echoing  in  the  heart  and 
making  the  sound  of  clanking  chains  more  un- 
bearable. The  saddest  despair  ever  stamped 
upon  human  countenance  is  written  on  the 
face  which  hides  itself  from  the  eyes  of  others, 
in  the  shadows  of  the  cell.  Within  these  great 
gates  and  high  walls  is  seen  the  wreckage  of 
saloon  and  brothel  and  gambling  den.  Here 
you  behold  the  lowest  strata  of  society  and  the 
downward  possibilities  of  creatures  made  in  the 
image  and  likeness  of  God.  You  cannot  but 
wonder  if  that  was  written  of  them.  The  bottom 
has  been  reached  when  out  of  the  depths  of  sin 

173 


174        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

and  crime,  out  of  the  very  gutters  of  the  city, 
men  and  women  are  dragged  and  dumped  in  the 
city  jail.  Hundreds  every  day  in  these  cities  are 
carried  in  the  very  arms  of  sin,  and  laid  upon 
stone  floors  and  iron  beds  where  there  can  be  no 
rest  for  souls  born  to  freedom  and  righteousness 
and  heaven.  The  wreck  of  the  good  ship  at 
sea  is  sad,  but  the  wrecks  against  the  rocks  of 
Raymond  Street  jail  and  the  Tombs  are  infinitely 
more  sad  and  incalculably  more  disastrous. 

I  have  walked  through  the  corridors  of  the 
jails  and  penitentiary  and  into  the  dark  cells,  and 
have  shuddered  and  saddened  at  the  sight  of  the 
power  of  sin.  I  have  seen  that  fiendish  giant 
with  his  one  hand  resting  upon  the  shoulder  of 
the  most  highly  educated  person  and  with  his 
other  hand  resting  upon  the  shoulder  of  the  most 
ignorant  specimen  of  humanity.  I  have  seen 
him  stalking  through  the  corridors,  across  the 
stone  floors  of  the  jails  and  penitentiaries,  with 
one  hand  clasped  in  the  hand  of  royalty  and  the 
other  clasped  in  the  hand  of  the  lowest  of  the 
slums.  Here  is  seen  the  evidence  of  the  power 
which  sin  has  over  the  life  of  the  most  highly 
cultured;  the  power  there  is  in  sin  to  drag  that 
life  down  to  the  lowest  depths. 


THE  GLOOM  OF  THE  PRISON  CELL.  i75 

As  I  stood  and  preached  the  gospel  of  Jesus 
Christ  to  eight  hundred  prisoners  in  the  peni- 
tentiary, I  looked  into  the  faces  of  twelve  bank 
presidents,  and  cashiers  and  bookkeepers 
enough  to  fully  equip  six  large  banks.  I  stood 
looking  into  the  faces  of  a  score  of  postmasters 
and  men  from  other  official  positions.  I  talked 
to  men  who  had  come  from  the  highest  schools 
of  learning  in  this  country  and  in  the  Old  World. 
The  chaplain  carried  in  his  hand  a  package  which 
contained  the  New  Testament  in  Greek  for  the 
son  of  a  German  baron,  and  a  Vergil  in  Latin  for 
the  son  of  an  English  lord,  and  a  primer  for  a 
man  thirty  years  of  age.  From  the  highest 
rounds  of  the  ladder  down  to  the  very  lowest  they 
had  come  to  companionship  with  those  most 
ignorant  on  earth. 

I  stood  by  the  side  of  a  man  who  was  intro- 
duced to  me  as  coming  from  the  State  of  Vir- 
ginia. I  marked  him  as  a  man  of  more  than 
ordinary  intelligence,  and  a  man  whose  life  had 
not  long  been  stained  with  the  dye  of  sin.  I 
had  witnessed  in  his  face  already  something 
which  told  the  tearful  story.  Forty  years  of  age; 
a  little  family  down  in  Virginia;  and  when  I  men- 
tioned the  children  his  heart  nearly  broke.  I 


i76 


MIDNIGHT  IN  A   GREAT  CITY. 


said  to  those  men,  "  Don't  you  remember  how 
the  boys  and  girls  used  to  come  up  to  you 
and  place  their  little  hands  on  your  knees 
and  look  into  your  face  and  tell  the  sweet 
story  of  love?"  nearly  half  the  audience  were 
in  tears.  It  melted  them  right  down  to 
think  of  the  old  home  down  in  Virginia, 
and  the  old  home  in  Texas,  and  the  old 
home  in  Brooklyn.  I  said  to  this  man  from 
Virginia,  "  I  understand  you  are  a  Baptist." 
He  said,  "  Yes."  But  he  did  not  wish  to 
talk  about  it.  He  said,  "  Yes,  I  am  a  Baptist,  a 
Baptist  deacon ;  lived  and  worked  for  the  Church ; 
but  oh,  I  made  a  fatal  mistake."  "  Well," 
I  said,  "  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  is  at  this 
moment  right  at  your  side.  If  you  ever  loved 
Him  you  know  what  it  means,  and  you  can  go 
back  to  His  dear  arms  when  you  get  beyond  the 
boundaries  of  this  prison  life;  you  can  begin 
your  life-work  for  Christ  over  again."  "  Yes," 
he  said,  with  a  deep  sigh,  but  the  poor  prisoner 
was  conscious  that  his  whole  life  was  blasted  and 
all  the  future  was  simply  a  blank,  and  that  he  was 
abandoned  by  society. 

I  said  to  the  chaplain,  "  Who  is  that  large, 
portly,  splendid-looking  man  in  front?"  He 


THE  GLOOM  OF  THE  PRISON  CELL. 


177 


said  he  was  once  a  member  of  the  Methodist 
church,  he  was  a  class-leader,  lived  for  the 
Church  and  gave  his  life  for  the  Church.  So,  all 
over  that  great  body  of  men,  the  finger  could  be 
pointed  to  those  who  were  once  high  in  life  and 
high  in  the  service  of  God;  but  now  chains 
have  been  fastened  to  them  and  they  tell  the 
story  of  crime  and  the  tremendous  power  of  sin. 

I  saw,  coming  into  the  jails,  the  very  lowest 
strata  of  humankind.  To  witness  the  power  of 
sin  in  human  life,  walk  through  the  corridors 
of  the  city  jail  where  in  a  single  morning 
a  hundred  and  fifty  men  and  women  made 
in  the  image  and  likeness  of  God  are 
dumped.  Some  of  their  faces  tell  the  story 
that  life  had  not  always  been  thus;  and  some  of 
them  reveal  plainly  that  from  the  cradle  to  that 
very  moment  life  had  been  in  the  companionship 
of  demons. 

I  saw  in  the  Tombs  in  a  small  hall  fifty  women 
herded  together.  It  is  sad  for  a  man  to  be  in 
jail,  but  it  is  unbearable  to  see  womankind 
brought  to  that  level.  There  were  all  nationali- 
ties and  colors.  With  hands  on  the  grating,  with 
eyes  almost  of  a  maniac,  a  young  woman  dressed 
in  queenly  style  looked  out  and  told  the  story,  in 


178        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

every  expression  of  her  face,  that  she  had  once 
been  in  a  good  home,  but  step  by  step  she  had 
made  her  way  down  to  that  level,  where  by  her 
side  stood  one  of  the  lowest  and  most  sin-stained 
specimens  of  humankind.  Undoubtedly,  some 
day  some  mother  had  looked  over  into  the  cra- 
dle at  her  baby  form  and  kissed  her  sweet  little 
cheek — the  sweetest  kiss  of  life — and  said, 
"  That  is  the  purest  innocence  this  side  of 
Heaven."  From  that  very  cradle  she  had 
walked  step  by  step,  down,  down,  down,  until 
she  had  reached  the  very  bottom  when  she 
struck  the  Tombs'  floor. 

Boys  are  carried  from  the  streets  for  petty 
crimes,  or  no  crimes  at  all,  and  thrown  into  the 
city  jail,  because  there  is  not  a  place  in  the  city 
of  Brooklyn  ten  feet  square  where  a  boy 
under  twelve  years  of  age,  found  home- 
less on  the  streets,  can  be  placed  to-night, 
except  in  jail.  There  you  find  them.  I 
saw  them  there,  innocent  specimens,  arrested 
for  running  away  from  home — a  drunkard's 
home;  brought  in  for  stealing  some  coal 
for  the  family  fire,  and  for  various  small 
offenses.  Fifty  boys  I  found  in  the  Tombs 
of   New  York   city;   some   of  them   two  or 


THE  GLOOM  OF  THE  PRISON  CELL.  179 

three  in  a  single  narrow  cell;  one  of  that  three 
deep-dyed  in  criminality,  the  others  perhaps  con- 
fined there  for  the  first  offense,  and  yet  there  in 
companionship  with  others  to  be  educated  for 
greater  crime,  when  once  they  have  passed 
through  these  iron  doors  to  freedom  again. 
More  ought  to  be  done  to  rescue  and  redeem 
the  boys  in  the  streets,  and  the  boys  committing 
their  first  offense,  and  the  boys  without  home  or 
friend.  This  is  a  part  of  the  solution  of  the 
great  problem  of  criminality. 

In  the  city  of  Chicago  recently,  a  criminal, 
just  about  to  meet  the  result  of  his  offense  at  the 
gallows,  said  to  the  chaplain  an  hour  before  he 
was  to  be  hanged,  "  I  want  to  tell  you  something, 
but  you  must  never  tell  my  friends.  This  is  not 
my  right  name.  I  came  from  a  good  home,  a 
large  home,  and  a  Christian  home.  I  have  a 
father  living  now;  his  gray  head  is  bowed  in 
sorrow  over  me;  he  thinks  I  am  in  England.  I 
have  one  brother  and  one  sister  living,  and  they 
don't  know  where  I  am.  Mother  is  dead.  I 
plead  with  you  now,  as  I  tell  you  my  right  name, 
never  to  let  them  know  that  their  son  and  brother 
died  on  the  gallows.  I  am  deep-dyed  in  crimi- 
nality, and  I  meet  this  execution  bravely,  and 


I  So        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


deserve  it;  but  when  I  was  a  mere  boy,  eight 
years  of  age,  I  went  forward  in  a  Methodist 
church  and  asked  for  prayers,  for  in  my  deepest 
soul  I  wanted  to  be  a  Christian.  My  father 
dragged  me  out  of  the  church  and  declared  that 
I  was  too  young,  and  if  I  ever  tried  that  again 
until  he  said  it  was  time  for  me  to  be  a  Christian, 
he  would  thrash  me.  My  father  is  largely  re- 
sponsible, after  all,  for  my  position.  I  might 
have  done  much  upon  earth  for  others,  instead  of 
doing  that  which  dragged  them  down.  I  might 
have  been  a  saved  man  myself  if  I  had  only  been 
allowed  to  go,  and  had  been  kept  by  parental 
power  in  the  very  presence  of  all  that  was  good 
instead  of  being  thrust  out  to  do  that  which  was 
bad."  In  a  little  time  the  gallows  did  its  work. 
The  bloody  execution  was  witnessed,  and  they 
carried  him  out  into  the  Potter's  field  of  Chicago, 
and  his  old  father  is  now  in  Michigan,  waiting  for 
his  son  to  come  home. 

Oh,  fathers  and  mothers  and  Christian  people! 
in  the  name  of  humanity  and  the  name  of  God, 
make  your  very  best  effort  for  the  salvation  of 
the  boys.  At  the  source  you  can  do  most  for 
the  purification  of  the  stream.  I  have  heard,  in 
our  very  courts  of  justice,  the  echo  of  injustice. 


THE  GLOOM  OF  THE  PRISON  CELL.  l8l 

There  is  injustice  done  to  some  of  the  prisoners. 
That  which  is  making  for  lowering  instead  of 
elevating  is  being  done  when  men  are  dragged 
out  of  the  gutters,  full  of  filth  and  vermin,  and 
thrust  into  jail,  and  compelled  to  be  there  thirty 
days  without  changing  a  single  thread  of  their 
clothing,  and  with  scarcely  any,  after  all,  to  be 
changed.  Men  are  in  jail  for  thirty  days,  and 
never  a  drop  of  water  rests  upon  their  skin.  The 
county,  for  the  sake  of  humanity  and  civili- 
zation and  Christianity,  should  spend  some 
money  to  afford  and  to  compel  a  change  of  gar- 
ments. It  is  this  very  education  from  which 
men  graduate  into  the  deepest  crime.  If 
a  man  is  allowed  to  be  thirty  days  in  that  con- 
dition in  Raymond  Street  jail,  he  will  come  out 
a  deeper-dyed  criminal  than  when  he  entered. 
The  county  ought  to  furnish  a  hose,  and  then 
it  ought  to  furnish  a  club,  and  compel 
a  man  to  wash  himself  at  least  once  in  thirty 
days. 

Then  there  is  the  injustice  done  by  the  bring- 
ing of  all  criminals  into  contact,  one  with  the 
other.  This  is  especially  true  of  women  prison- 
ers. I  saw  a  hundred  women  in  the  corridors, 
all  day  together,  and  eight  or  ten  at  night  in  a 


1 82         MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

room  together.  Some  of  them  were  not  guilty; 
some  of  them  were  just  stained;  some  of  them 
deep-dyed,  and  some  of  them  saturated  with  sin 
and  crime.  A  tear-stained  penitent  and  the 
most  hardened  life  of  impurity  and  drunkenness 
are  herded  together.  What  contrasts  in  faces! 
What  histories  are  written  upon  them.  One  of 
sorrow  and  despair;  one  of  a  demon  smile. 
There  is  injustice  also  along  the  line  of  delay  of 
trial.  I  have  been  astounded  and  righteously 
indignant,  that  there  should  be  women  and  men 
brought  into  jail  and  allowed  to  stay  there  for 
weeks  and  almost  months  without  a  trial,  not 
knowing  whether  they  were  guilty  or  not.  If 
there  was  ever  injustice  upon  the  face  of  the 
earth,  it  is  there.  I  saw  myself  one  woman  in 
Raymond  Street  jail,  who  had  been  there  for 
weeks,  absolutely  innocent,  awaiting  trial,  and 
her  home  was  in  mourning  for  mother  and 
wife;  the  barbarous  woman  who  had  caused 
her  arrest  was  wearing  her  lost  watch  a  week, 
while  the  guiltless  woman  was  behind  prison  bars 
with  the  deepest-dyed  criminals.  If  there  ever 
was  injustice  this  side  of  hell,  that  is  injustice. 
"  Change  of  politics,"  they  said  to  me.  I  care 
not  if  they  change  every  throne  on  the  face  of 


THE  GLOOM  OF  THE  PRISON  CELL.  183 

the  earth,  that  cruelty  ought  never  to  take  place 
in  a  civilized  land. 

The  subject  of  criminality  is  not  so  foreign 
to  ourselves  as  we  imagine.  Old  Dr.  Johnson, 
when  he  was  paying  his  respects  to  Mrs.  Porter, 
came  to  her  and  told  her  he  was  not  worthy  of 
her.  He  said,  he  hated  to  undertake  such  a 
difficult  task  as  to  ask  her  to  be  his  wife. 
"  Why,"  he  said,  "  I  haven't  any  beauty,  and 
that  you  can  see;  I  haven't  any  money,  and  that 
you  know;  I  haven't  any  royalty,  and  that  you 
know,  but  to  be  plain  with  you,  I  have  at  least 
one  uncle  who  has  disgraced  the  family  by  being 
hanged."  "  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Porter,  "  I  haven't 
any  good  looks,  and  that  you  can  see;  I  haven't 
any  money,  and  that  you  know;  I  haven't  any 
uncles  that  have  been  hanged,  but  I  have  a  half 
dozen  that  ought  to  be."  The  jail  is  not  so  dis- 
tant, and  injustice  is  of  vital  interest  to  every- 
body. Can  any  man  own  a  house  or  one  square 
foot  of  ground  and  not  be  interested  to  know  how 
many  hundreds  of  thousands  of  dollars  every 
year  the  criminals  of  the  city  take  from  the 
righteous  citizens'  pocket;  not  by  breaking  into 
your  house,  perhaps,  and  taking  your  personal 
property  at  the  midnight  hour,  or  by  picking 


184         MIDXIGJ1T  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


your  pocket,  but  by  making  you  pay  toward 
the  millions  of  taxes  for  trials,  for  judges,  for 
lawyers,  for  jails,  for  everything  about  crimi- 
nal life.  Every  man  and  woman  must  be  in- 
tensely interested  for  that  reason.  It  touches 
the  most  sensitive  spot.  The  heart  is  not  the 
most  tender;  it  is  the  purse.  Can  there  be  ten 
to  fifteen  millions  of  dollars  gathered  every 
year  in  these  two  cities  as  taxes  for  criminals, 
and  a  citizen  not  be  affected  by  it?  Can  there 
be  one  hundred  and  fifty  men  in  this  city  and 
hundreds  in  New  York  city  dragged  out  of  the 
gutters  and  dens  of  vice  and  hurled  into  the  jails, 
and  their  fellow-men  not  be  affected  by  it?  Can 
boys  and  girls  live  in  the  center  of  criminality 
and  not  be  touched  by  it?  The  jail  and  peni- 
tentiary affect  every  man,  woman,  and  child  most 
vitally;  the  thermometer  of  your  civilization 
and  of  your  social  conditions  is  the  stone  wall  of 
your  jail. 

T  saw  in  these  institutions  hand  shackled  to 
hand;  three  men  manacled  together,  one  in 
the  center  and  one  on  either  side,  and  I  said, 
"  That  is  an  illustration  of  the  most  vital  truth,  in 
many  respects,  connected  with  the  subject  of 
criminality.    They  are  brought  here  by  virtue  of 


THE  GLOOM  OF  THE  PRISON  CELL.  185 

being  shackled  to  bad  associations  and  evil  com- 
panions. And  they  are  continuing  in  that 
kind  of  life,  and  are  destined  to  go  out  of  here 
and  repeat  precisely  the  same  kind  of  acts. 
Shackled,  yes  shackled  to  bad  companions. 
One  man,  with  the  deepest  sorrow,  and  with 
tears  running  down  his  cheeks,  and  memory 
still  echoing  Tennyson's  lines  in  his  soul: 

"  The  wild  pulsations  I  felt  before  the  strife, 
When  I  had  my  days  before  me,  and  the  tumult  of  my  life  : 
Yearning  for  the  large  excitement  that  the  coming  years 
would  yield, 

Eager-hearted  as  a  boy  when  first  he  leaves  his  father's 
field, 

said,  "  The  circumstances  of  my  life,  which  I  now 
reap,  came  from  the  seed  which  I  sowed.  They 
have  torn  my  flesh,  and  I  bled,  but  I  might  have 
known  if  I  sowed  such  seed,  I  should  reap 
such  a  harvest.  Out  of  the  best  home,  the  pur- 
est of  motherhood,  the  noblest  of  fatherhood,  in 
boyhood  I  started  with  the  brightest  of  pros- 
pects in  life.  I  entered  life  with  bad  companions 
and  grew  to  manhood  with  bad  companions;  I 
associated  with  those  companions,  until  now 
I  am  a  convict  behind  the  bars,  a  total  wreck.  I 
will  write  my  life  for  you  with  just  one  word, 


iS6        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY, 

D-E-S-P-A-I-R.  Can  you  understand,"  said 
he,  "  what  it  means  for  a  man  to  be  a  physical, 
mental,  and  moral  suicide?  That  is  me.  I  have 
passed  through  the  best  of  my  life,  and  in  despair, 
and  with  life  crushed  out  of  my  body,  I  am 
behind  the  bars!"  It  was  the  saddest  sight, 
sufficient  even  to  make  silence  in  the  lower 
world,  and  tears  in  heaven. 

I  saw  in  the  corridors  of  the  Tombs  in  New 
York  city  a  motto  on  the  walls — I  took  out  my 
book  and  wrote  it  down.  "  Many  kings  have 
been  slain  by  intemperance."  I  said,  "  Yes, 
they  have  told  me  that  story;  the  keepers  and 
wardens  have  told  me  that  story;  the  chaplains 
have  told  me  that  story."  The  letters  looked 
crimson  on  the  wall.  A  broken-hearted  man 
said,  "  I  started  wrong  and  allowed  the  appetite 
of  drink  to  rule  this  physical  frame.  I  fought 
like  a  hero  to  overcome  it  and  I  thought  I  had 
gained  the  victory,  but  then  again  the  appetite 
overcame  me.  Whisky  seemed  to  control  me, 
body  and  soul  and  spirit,  and  then  I  went  down 
into  criminality.  Step  by  step,  step  by  step,  I 
have  gone  down,  down,  down,  through  the  path- 
way of  drunkenness  until  my  whole  life  now  is 
completely  blasted.    Now  I  am  abandoned  by 


THE  GLOOM  OF  THE  PRISON  CELL.  187 

society,  abandoned  by  the  world,  abandoned  by 
Heaven,  and  only  waiting  for  hell."  What  ruin! 
Chains  of  ruin  first,  and  then  chains  of  crime. 

Almost  without  exception  women  enter  the 
jails  through  drunkenness.  Most  men  are 
brought  there  through  that  same  pathway.  In- 
temperance is  responsible  for  seventy-five  per 
cent,  of  the  crime,  according  to  the  statistics. 
Three-quarters  of  the  criminality  is  traceable  to 
the  saloon.  With  hands  on  the  bars  of  the  cell, 
and  eyes  of  desperation  staring  almost  out  of 
their  sockets,  stood  one  of  the  greatest  criminals 
ever  committed  to  Raymond  Street  jail,  waiting 
for  his  trial  for  two  offenses  he  had  committed. 
Many  times  he  had  been  committed  to  this  jail. 
The  first  time  he  came  to  Raymond  Street  jail  so 
great  were  his  audacity  and  his  daring  that  he  cut 
a  hole  in  the  bottom  of  the  wagon  that  was  carry- 
ing him  there  and  escaped.  The  first  time  he 
was  incarcerated  in  Kings  County  Penitentiary, 
with  a  keeper  at  one  end  of  the  corridor  watch- 
ing his  cell  and  a  keeper  at  the  other  end  of  the 
corridor  watching  his  cell,  in  the  night  time  with 
the  iron  bars  in  front  of  him,  and  at  the  fourth 
corridor,  he  escaped,  and  they  did  not  find  him. 
There  he  is  again  with  a  look  of  despair,  his 


1 88        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

hands  grasping  the  iron  bars  of  the  grating.  He 
told  the  same  story.  "  I  am  all  right  until  I  get 
the  demon,  Drink,  in  possession  of  my  life,  and 
then  I  am  a  criminal  from  head  to  foot.  If  I 
could  only  stop  drinking,  I  would  be  all  right. 
Oh,  if  I  could  only  get  those  shackles  from  my 
wrists  now,"  he  said,  "but  every  time  I  get  out, 
before  I  know  it,  the  appetite  has  me,  and 
then  I  am  drunk  again  and  ready  for  any  sort  of 
crime." 

Whisky  will  inflame  and  excite  a  man  and 
make  him  insane,  so  that  he  will  commit  almost 
any  crime.  And  beer,  according  to  one  of  the 
highest  medical  journals  in  the  world,  has  this 
effect  upon  man  and  makes  the  most  criminals; 
it  hardens,  gradually  hardens  his  entire  life, 
until  he  becomes!  capable  of  committing  any 
offense  in  cold  blood.  That  is  the  difference. 
The  saloons  are  directly  responsible  for  seventy- 
five  per  cent,  of  the  criminals.  The  majority 
of  these  lawbreakers  are  from  twenty  to  thirty 
years  of  age.  They  come  up  through  the  path- 
way of  evil  companionship  and  intemperance, 
until  they  get  to  be  of  age,  and  then  they  are 
confirmed  criminals.  I  have  named  the  large 
brass  key  that  turns  the  locks  in  the  heavy  iron 


THE  GLOOM  OF  THE  PRISON  CELL.  189 


doors  of  the  jail,  "  W-I-L-L."  I  know  that  you 
are  making  excuses  for  criminals,  under  the  plea 
that  they  are  in  this  condition  by  virtue  of  hered- 
ity. I  know  you  say  that  Margaret,  chief  of  the 
criminals,  born  up  in  one  of  the  counties  of  this 
country,  for  six  generations  by  her  impure  family 
life  sent  out  into  the  world  a  vast  number  of 
criminals.  In  six  generations  she  had  nine  hun- 
dred descendants,  two  hundred  of  these  descend- 
ants were  imprisoned,  and  almost  the  entire 
number  remaining  were  either  idiots  or  imbeciles 
in  lunatic  asylums  or  drunkards  in  the  alms- 
houses. I  know  what  one  man  said  recently: 
"  Do  you  know  why  you  or  anybody  else  can- 
not do  anything  with  me?"  He  said,  "  You 
other  men  had  fathers  and  mothers  who 
brought  you  up  under  religious  influence.  I 
had  a  drunken  fiend  for  a  mother."  Yes,  I  know 
it.  But  back  of  all  the  power  of  heredity, 
back  of  all  the  power  which  is  thrown 
about  a  man's  life  by  virtue  of  his  surround- 
ings, I  still  hold  as  the  chief  element  in 
manhood,  and  that  which  is  always  on  the 
throne  of  a  man's  life,  is — Will.  Next  to 
the  omnipotence  of  God  is  the  will  of  man. 
Every    young    man    or    woman    who  walks 


190        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

to  jail  side  by  side  with  a  policeman,  and  is 
passed  from  there  some  day  to  the  penitentiary, 
goes  there  by  virtue  of  his  own  will. 

A  little  fellow  under  twelve  years  of  age 
talked  to  me  from  behind  the  bars.  He  was  a 
bright-looking  boy  and  small  for  his  age.  It 
made  my  heart  ache.  I  could  not  help  but 
brush  back  at  least  one  tear  as  I  stood  looking 
at  his  tear-stained  face.  I  said  to  him,  "  How 
did  you  come  here?"  He  said,  "I  ran  away 
from  home."  And  then  I  found  out  that  he  had 
run  away  from  a  drunkard's  home.  And  then  I 
said,  "  Did  you  ever  do  that  before?  "  He  said, 
"  No,  but  one  of  the  boys  told  me  it  would  be  a 
good  thing  to  do,  and  he  said  he  would  go  with 
me ;  but  after  we  went  away  he  ran  away  and  left 
me,  and  then  the  officers  found  me  on  the 
streets."  I  gave  him  the  best  sympathy  I  had, 
and  on  turning  round  I  saw  the  warden  smiling, 
who  said  to  me,  "  He  is  educated  young. 
Every  mother's  son  of  them  says  the  same  thing 
— the  other  fellow  did  it ;  but  it  was  not  the  other 
fellow,  because  everyone  can  do  as  he  pleases, 
after  all."  And  then  I  remembered  the  hard- 
ened criminal  who  looked  through  the  bars  at 
me  and  declared  that  whisky  had  done  it  all 


THE  GLOOM  OF  THE  PRISON  CELL.  191 

for  him,  and  in  the  course  of  his  remarks  said, 
showing  his  manhood,  "  I  am  not  going  to  make 
any  excuse  for  my  present  position.  It  was 
whisky  that  put  me  here,  but  it  was  my  lips  that 
took  the  whisky."  With  all  the  power  that 
this  world  can  throw  about  a  man's  life  to  drag 
him  down,  with  will  as  king,  he  is  a  can  man. 

Young  men  were  given  the  privilege  in  the  city 
to  live  without  work.  They  indulged  in  dress, 
they  squandered  time,  and  paralyzed  brain  and 
killed  body  and  destroyed  soul.  In  that  idle  life 
they  planted  the  seeds  from  which  were  reaped 
the  tares  of  a  prison  life.  If  a  father's  ideal  is  to 
allow  his  boy  to  live  in  idleness,  he  ought  to  be 
sent  to  jail  himself.  "  The  devil  always  finds 
something  for  idle  hands  to  do."  Some  time  ago, 
on  Fifth  Avenue  in  New  York  city  a  horse  be- 
came balky.  There  was  a  little  snow  on  the 
street,  and  a  large  crowd  gathered  around  the 
driver  of  that  horse  and  strove  as  best  they  could 
to  make  him  move.  But  he  simply  stationed  his 
feet  and  was  evidently  determined  to  stand  there 
forever.  The  driver  pounded  him,  coaxed  him, 
swore  at  him,  and  tried  everything  to  make  the 
horse  move,  but  he  would  not.  A  score  of  sug- 
gestions came  from  the  bystanders,  but  every- 


192        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

one  of  them  was  without  any  effect  whatever; 
until  at  last  a  green-looking  Irishman  pushed  his 
way  through  the  crowd,  and  having  picked  up 
from  the  street  a  handful  of  snow,  he  took  the 
horse  by  his  foretop  and  rubbed  his  nose  vigor- 
ously with  that  snowball.  They  said  to  him, 
"What  did  you  do  that  for?"  But  instantly 
the  horse  went  like  a  shot  down  the  street. 
They  said  to  him  again,  "  What  did  you  do 
that  for? "  "  Oh,"  he  said,  "  the  baste  needs 
to  get  some  new  ideas."  A  life  determined  on 
standing  still  in  idleness  needs  a  new  idea. 
Take  it  away  from  the  ideas  of  idleness  and 
sin,  and  of  planning  for  evil,  and  give  it  an 
idea  of  a  noble  life — a  life  which  is  willing 
to  move,  and  to  move  on  toward  a  destiny  which 
shall  be  bright  with  glory. 

I  saw,  in  the  Tombs  of  New  York  city,  the 
Bridge  of  Sighs.  It  is  a  pass  from  the  jail  over 
into  the  court  of  justice.  I  said,  "  Why  do  they 
call  it  the  Bridge  of  Sighs?"  He  said,  "Every 
man  who  walks  across  there,  when  he  comes 
back  gives  an  awful  sigh."  Who  can  look  at 
that  Bridge  of  Sighs  without  the  echo  of  that 
sigh  resounding  in  his  own  heart.  A  young 
man  arrested  for  forgery  was  brought  into  the 


THE  GLOOM  OF  THE  PRISON  CELL.  193 


city  jail,  recently.  In  the  hall  they  stood  and  the 
warden  told  me  how  the  poor  fellow  plead  with 
him  and  said,  "  Warden,  warden,  if  you  take  me 
across  that  door-sill  into  the  cell  with  those  other 
prisoners,  I  will  die  with  a  broken  heart.  I  will 
drop  dead.  Let  me  stay  here  until  to-morrow 
morning."  "  It  was  not  right;  but  I  could  not 
refuse  him,"  said  the  warden;  "  his  tears  and  his 
pleading  prevailed,  so  I  took  him  up  into  a  room 
and  gave  him  a  newspaper  to  read,  thinking  that 
he  would  be  awake  all  night.  I  stayed  with  him 
until  eleven  o'clock.  The  next  morning  I  went 
up  to  find  the  poor  fellow  dead  on  the  bed,  his 
cheeks  stained  with  tears.  He  had  turned  on 
the  gas  and  laid  down  and  died."  He  was  the 
son  of  a  clergyman,  one  of  the  best  known  men 
in  Brooklyn;  at  one  time  a  preacher  of  national 
fame  and  head  of  the  Methodist  Publishing 
House.  What  awful  possibilities,  even  in  the 
home  of  that  man  of  God!  From  the  preach- 
er's fireside  to  Raymond  Street  jail.  Saddest 
picture  on  earth.  The  cold  world  says,  "  Oh, 
base  villain,  fall  over  in  your  prison  cell  and  rot, 
that  is  where  you  belong."  But  Almighty  God 
says  something  vastly  different  from  that.  He 
whispers  in  ev^ry  prisoner's  ear  the  sweet  words, 


194 


MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


"  Mercy,  Hope,  and  Pardon."  In  the  peniten- 
tiary I  asked  eight  hundred  men  if  any  of  them 
wished  to  be  saved  and  to  be  prayed  for,  and  to 
pledge  themselves  that  they  would  pray  for  them- 
selves. At  that  moment,  knowing  that  the  eye 
of  God  rested  upon  them  and  that  every  one  of 
their  comrades  and  keepers  would  laugh  at  them, 
with  tears  streaming  down  their  cheeks,  three 
hundred  boldly  raised  their  hands  and  asked 
to  be  prayed  for.  The  Lord  Jesus  walked 
down  through  those  aisles  just  as  well  as  he 
walks  through  the  aisles  of  a  church,  and  waited 
at  every  one  of  the  seats,  that  the  chained  prison- 
er's hand  might  touch  the  hem  of  His  garment 
and  be  free.  I  wanted  to  shout  through  every 
prison  corridor  that  which  sounded  through  the 
Philippian  jail,  "  Believe  on  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  and  thou,  thou,  even  thou,  shalt  be 
saved." 

I  came  from  the  gloom,  the  awful  gloom  of 
the  Tombs,  and  within  a  few  moments  witnessed 
from  the  heights  of  the  Brooklyn  Bridge  a  beau- 
tiful sunset  with  all  its  glory  falling  upon  the 
harbor  and  lighting  the  torch  of  Liberty's  statue. 
The  whole  sky  was  resplendent  with  its 
effulgence  borrowed  from  the  heavenly  world. 


THE  GLOOM  OF  THE  PRISON  CELL.  195 


The  white  clouds  were  waiting  in  their  dressing 
rooms,  while  messengers  sent  out  from  the 
King's  palace  were  drawing  about  their  delicate 
forms  robes  of  richest  coloring.  And  then 
they  moved  out  upon  the  stage  of  the  world's 
great  theater  and  gracefully  played  their  part. 
A  single  star  pulled  aside  the  curtains  and  lov- 
ingly said,  "  Good-night,"  to  the  king  of  day, 
as  he  lay  in  his  western  couch,  and  then  threw  a 
kiss  to  him  across  the  sky.  The  whole  vaulted 
sky  changed  from  beauty  to  beauty  and  from 
glory  to  glory,  without  a  single  possibility  of  ex- 
hausting the  tints  in  the  studio  of  the  Great 
Artist.  The  boats  of  every  description  moved 
across  the  harbor  in  every  direction,  to  every 
point  of  the  compass.  A  little  tug  was  just 
screeching  its  throat  hoarse,  simply  to  attract 
attention.  The  sail-boat  had  its  white  sails 
spread  out  like  the  wings  of  a  bird  gracefully 
playing  with  the  breezes,  and  was  made  more 
beautiful  as  the  sun's  rays  shot  upon  it,  trans- 
forming it  into  a  thing  of  exquisite  beauty. 
Away  out  in  the  distance  a  great  steamer  lay 
anchored  and  asleep,  weary  with  its  battle  with 
wind  and  wave.  The  ferries  were  running 
across  each  other's  track  on  their  errands  of 


196        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

mercy  for  the  weary  toilers.  The  great  bridge 
on  which  I  stood,  and  which  held  me  between  the 
earth  and  sky,  never  seemed  to  me  so  majestic 
and  wonderful.  The  twin  cities  were  a  fitting 
gateway  to  this  great  continent,  and  as  the  beau- 
tiful sun  with  its  last  rays  darted  against  the 
domes  and  spires  and  buildings,  I  stood  almost 
entranced  and  said,  "  Sunset  glory,  island 
beauty,  sailing  craft,  arching  bridge,  Liberty's 
torch — all  the  glory  of  this  heavenly  scene 
is  made  possible  by  obedience  to  God's  law. 
And  in  the  entire  world  in  which  we  live,  all 
freedom  and  glory  came  to  be,  because  of 
obedience.  And  the  gloom  of  the  prison  tomb 
is  the  direct  result  of  disobedience."  In  that 
short  distance  between  the  Tombs  and  the 
Brooklyn  Bridge  a  great  gulf  of  sin  was  fixed. 
And  I  saw  another  bridge;  one  end  of  it 
stood  upon  the  Tombs  of  New  York  city,  and 
the  other  end  of  it  stood  upon  the  Raymond 
Street  jail,  and  the  keystone  of  the  mighty 
arch  was  the  threshold  of  heaven,  and  the 
entire  framework  of  the  wondrous  structure  was 
composed  of  nine  letters,  W-H-O-S-O-E-V-E-R. 


CHAPTER  XL 


THE  PIECE  OF  LAVA  FROM  THE  VOLCANO. 

The  traveler  stands  on  Mount  Vesuvius,  and 
the  small  pieces  of  lava,  red-hot  from  that  seeth- 
ing furnace,  burn  at  his  feet.  He  must  wait  for 
the  clock  to  tick  away  its  moments  before  the 
relic  can  be  touched  and  carried  away  from  the 
doorway  of  its  home.  He  does  not  see  the  great 
boiling  mass  beneath  the  surface;  that  little  mes- 
senger has  told  him  emphatically  of  his  peril  and 
the  mighty  forces  of  destruction  beneath  his  feet. 
That  wild  madness  and  murderous  spirit  is  just 
waiting  in  its  dark  cage,  to  break  through  the 
prison  bars  and  work  out  its  purpose  of  death. 

Beneath  the  modern  city  is  a  Vesuvius.  The 
surface  may  blossom  with  flowers  and  be  car- 
peted with  emerald  axminster;  trees  may  even 
bear  luscious  fruit  and  homes  stand  apparently 
unshaken;  but  the  rain-drops  of  lava  tell  of  the 
awful  flood  and  the  probability  of  a  Pompeian 
197 


198        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

disaster.  Underneath  all  the  beauty  and  appar- 
ent prosperity  of  the  great  city,  the  surface 
adorned  by  magnificent  churches  and  public 
buildings,  splendid  commercial  establishments, 
palace  homes,  and  most  costly  and  beautiful 
parks;  beneath  all  these  are  the  seething,  death- 
bringing  operations  of  the  thousands  of  gam- 
blers and  their  companions  in  vice  and  crime. 
This  is  one  of  the  greatest  evils,  and  one  that  is 
largely  concealed  from  public  knowledge.  But 
enough  is  seen  and  known  to  make  human  hearts 
shudder  and  human  hopes  vanish.  In  this  part 
of  his  kingdom,  "  King  Law  "  swings  his  scepter 
with  a  palsied  hand.  This  subject  carries  on  his 
nefarious  business  so  largely  in  the  dark,  or 
under  a  false  name,  that  his  crime  is  unmeasured 
and  unpunished. 

These  dens  of  vice  are  counted  by  the  hundred 
in  these  great  cities.  They  are  not  counted  on 
earth,  but  are  seen  in  the  white  light  of  the 
judgment  throne.  We  stepped  aboard  the  ferry 
at  Forty-second  Street,  which  was  supposed  to 
go  to  the  West  Shore  Railroad,  but  it  was  the 
gamblers'  boat  and  was  bound  in  another  direc- 
tion. It  was  crowded  with  hundreds  of  men, 
from  the  wearer  of  the  diamond-studded  front  to 


PIECE  OF  LAVA  FROM  THE  VOLCANO.  199 


that  of  the  flannel  of  the  laborer.  Old  and 
young,  white  and  black,  had  but  one  look  in  the 
eye  and  one  purpose  in  the  heart.  The  smoke 
and  filth  arose  like  the  sulphurous  fumes  from 
the  pit.  Blasphemy  and  impurity  mingled  with 
it  like  most  familiar  companions.  The  boat 
moved  straight  across  the  stream  as  if  to  land  in 
the  regular  ferry-slip,  and  the  mercy  of  the  Hud- 
son kept  it  from  going  to  the  bottom  with  its 
heavy  load.  When  it  neared  the  other  shore 
it  suddenly  turned  up  the  river  and  moved  along 
for  about  one  mile,  and  then  glided  into  a 
secluded  cove  and  an  old  ferry-slip.  That  great 
crowd  anxiously  poured  from  the  gangplank 
and  hastened  toward  a  flat  building  under  the 
hill.  It  covered  a  large  area  and  had  no  win- 
dows or  opening  toward  the  river,  except  a  small 
door  which  led  into  a  barroom.  Through  that 
miserable  vestibule  of  hell  the  stream  poured  out 
of  a  back  door  and  along  under  the  overhanging 
rocks  for  about  one  hundred  feet,  and  then  into 
another  narrow  door,  which  opened  out  into  a 
large  space  which  was  the  home  of  New  York 
and  Brooklyn  gamblers.  It  was  the  resort  of 
many  young  men  and  boys  from  good  homes; 
and  the  abiding  place  of  cut-throats  and  thieves. 


200        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

In  that  vile  institution,  in  the  presence  of  those 
six  or  eight  hundred  men,  I  stood  at  that  after- 
noon hour  with  such  feelings  as  never  before 
crept  into  my  heart — feelings  of  deepest  sadness; 
feelings  of  startling  amazement;  feelings  like 
those  of  the  Christ  when  they  gambled  at  the 
foot  of  the  Cross.  I  never  believed  that  the  gov- 
ernments of  earth  were  so  bad  as  to  allow  the 
governments  of  hell  to  place  such  an  institution 
upon  our  free  soil  and,  unmolested,  to  damn  our 
boys  and  work  their  awful  ruin  in  our  homes  and 
society. 

I  saw  there  all  the  apparatus  which  evil  genius 
could  invent  with  which  to  steal  and  to  destroy. 
The  telegraph  clicked  off  the  St.  Louis  and  New 
Orleans  races,  and  the  money  poured  into  the 
pool  from  hundreds  of  hands.  The  fiends  at  the 
tables  and  at  the  wheels  shouted  themselves 
hoarse,  and  the  silver  rang  without  end  upon 
the  red  spots  and  black  spots,  red  with  blood 
and  black  with  perdition.  The  dice  rattled  and 
the  chips  rolled,  and  the  cards  shuffled  and  the 
wheels  turned  and  stopped  at  the  will  of  the 
crimson  hand  that  twisted  them.  In  this  dread- 
ful sound,  mingled  with  blasphemy  and  impurity 
and  anger,  I  heard  the  cry  of  hundreds  of 


PIECE  OF  LAVA  FROM  THE  VOLCANO.     20 1 

mothers,  the  sigh  of  hundreds  of  hearts,  and  the 
eternal  wail  of  hundreds  of  souls.  That  infernal 
den  might  just  as  well  be  in  City  Hall  Park  as 
far  as  the  result  is  concerned  to  these  cities. 
Shame  on  a  government  which  makes  it 
possible!  Shame  on  a  telegraph  company 
which  makes  its  money  out  of  such  a  dia- 
bolical business!  Shame  on  a  railroad  company 
which  turns  its  business  over  into  the  hands  of 
the  devil  for  a  few  stained  dollars!  Shame  on  a 
nation  which  makes  its  money  with  "  In  God  we 
trust,"  and  then  allows  it  to  roll  along  that  foul 
path  of  lawlessness  across  the  gamblers'  table 
and  into  the  gamblers'  till!  The  cities  are  full 
of  gamblers  and  gambling  places.  I  have  been 
in  them,  even  in  the  Chinese  and  Greek  dens. 
They  gamble  in  every  saloon;  they  gamble  in 
the  clubs;  they  gamble  behind  barred  doors.  I 
have  seen  as  many  as  one  hundred  boys  in  a 
single  pool  room.  The  policy  shops  are  run- 
ning everywhere,  and  men,  women,  and  children 
are  running  to  them  with  their  last  nickels. 

This  is  one  of  the  greatest  destroyers,  because 
it  is  a  Mormon  and  married  to  many  wives.  All 
forms  of  vice  are  its  companions.  It  is  the  mur- 
derer of  body,  mind,  and  soul.    It  tramples  on 


202        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREA  T  CITY. 


everything  healthful  and  sacred.  You  will 
scarcely  see  a  gambler  above  forty  years  of  age. 
They  die  young  and  go  to  a  gamblers'  hell. 
They  live  in  perdition  on  earth.  Love  is  burned 
out  of  their  hearts  and  home  is  always  destroyed. 
Their  life  is  not  an  evolution,  it  is  a  devolution. 
The  vice  has  nothing  redeeming  or  palliating 
or  excusing  about  it.  It  is  blasting  to  character 
and  fixes  destiny.  It  is  in  full  growth  a  monster 
with  bloody  appetite.  It  is  useless  to  talk  about 
the  suicides  and  devastation  of  Monte  Carlo, 
when  right  at  our  very  doors  the  same  deadly 
work  is  in  progress.  Our  trees  hang  with  the 
victims  and  the  sound  of  their  revolvers  rings 
in  our  ears.  It  is  death!  death!  death!  It  is 
death  to  home.  Its  sulphurous  breath  blows  the 
light  out;  its  hand  throws  water  on  the  hearth; 
its  skeleton  form  moves  through  every  room 
and  banishes  the  last  sound  of  laughter  and  joy. 
The  gambler  has  leased  his  once  happy  home  to 
the  tenants  "  sorrow  and  despair."  In  the  rattle 
of  the  dice,  and  shuffle  of  the  cards,  and  the  click 
of  the  wheel,  and  the  sound  of  the  balls,  and  the 
noise  of  the  chips,  and  the  ring  of  the  silver  and 
the  shout  of  demons  on  earth,  I  heard  the  piti- 
ful, pathetic,  heartrending  cry  of  a  mother.  In 


PIECE  OF  LA  VA  FROM  THE  VOLCANO.  203 


that  maelstrom  of  iniquity  was  the  young  man 
who  was  once  the  pride  of  his  home.  Paternal 
care  and  maternal  love  watched  him.  Arms  of 
tenderest  affection  had  encircled  him.  Brightest 
hopes  had  hovered  above  his  cradle  and  his  early 
life.  But  now  there  are  hearts  aching  and  break- 
ing, and  waiting  with  sleepless  eyes  for  his  re- 
turn. Why  not  sleep?  How  can  they?  They 
have  done  and  suffered  too  much  for  him  to  rest 
when  he  is  in  the  dissipation  and  sin  of  the  great 
city.  The  light  is  in  the  window  and  mother's 
eyes  are  at  the  pane,  and  the  clock  strikes  twelve 
to  deaden  the  sounds  of  her  sobs.  He  had  scarlet 
fever  when  a  boy,  and  she  nursed  him  night  and 
day  until  it  seemed  as  if  she  were  born  not  to 
need  sleep.  Oh,  how  anxious  she  was  then  as 
she  placed  her  hand  of  love  on  his  little  fever- 
burned  brow;  how  she  watched  every  move  and 
how  she  prayed  that  God  would  save  him!  But 
now  she  looks  out  of  the  window  and  listens  for 
his  coming,  and  on  the  pathway  of  one  of  her 
sighs  she  carries  the  heavy  cry:  "Oh,  I  would 
rather  have  him  in  his  crib  with  the  scarlet 
fever!" 

I  looked  into  the  demoniacal  eyes  of  a  hus- 
band and  father  as  he  shook  the  dice  and  counted 


204         MIDXIGHT  IX  A   GREAT  CITY. 

the  chips  at  the  table,  and  thought  of  the  domes- 
tic happiness  he  had  destroyed.  He  had  set  fire 
to  his  own  home  and  burned  up  the  last  rem- 
nants of  love.  The  children  once  waited  for  his 
coming  and  threw  kisses  from  the  window  and 
jumped  in  their  glee  while  his  key  was  unfasten- 
ing the  door.  Kisses  the  sweetest  fell  like  a 
shower,  but  now  they  are  all  forgotten  and  the 
face  is  calloused  by  sin.  A  wife's  heart  once 
beat  in  harmony  with  his,  but  now  the  gambler's 
heart  has  become  as  hard  as  the  granite  and 
never  feels  the  touch  of  love.  His  wife's  gar- 
ments are  faded;  his  daughters  are  disgraced; 
his  sons  are  started  on  the  short  cut  to  ruin. 
The  arrow  of  love  glances  from  his  iron  soul  and 
home  has  no  attraction.  The  fires  of  his  passion 
and  excitement  of  his  life  have  done  their  work 
of  destruction.  From  the  thousands  of  homes 
in  city  and  country  comes  the  same  sad  cry  to 
mingle  with  the  awful  sounds  of  the  gambler's 
world. 

A  Christian  father  in  one  of  the  Eastern 
States  had  a  reckless  son,  who  disgraced  himself 
and  brought  shame  upon  his  family  by  his  mis- 
conduct. From  home  the  prodigal  went  to 
California,  to  become  even  more  reckless.  For 


PIECE  OF  LAVA  FROM  THE  VOLCANO.  205 

years  the  father  heard  nothing  of  him.  A  chance 
offering,  he  sent  this  message  to  him:  '  Your 
father  still  loves  you."  The  bearer  sought  him 
long  in  vain.  At  last  he  visited  a  low  den  of 
infamy  in  his  search,  and  there  recognized  the 
erring  son.  He  called  him  out,  and  at  the  hour 
of  midnight  delivered  his  message.  The  gam- 
bler's heart  was  touched.  The  thought  of  father 
that  loved  him  still,  and  wanted  to  forgive  him, 
broke  the  spell  of  Satan.  He  abandoned  the 
game,  his  companions,  and  his  cups,  to  return  to 
his  father.  Oh,  prodigal,  come  home;  come 
home! 

This  volcano  is  also  causing  death  to  honesty, 
industry,  and  all  business  and  social  relations. 
Gambling  is  the  art  of  securing  the  property  of 
another  without  giving  him  anything  in  return. 
If  a  man  takes  anything  from  another  by  force, 
or  in  an  inartistic  way,  he  is  called  a  thief.  If  he 
does  precisely  the  same  thing  in  another  manner, 
he  is  called  a  gambler.  But  he  is  one  and  the 
same.  He  who  does  the  one  for  any  length  of 
time  will  do  the  other.  The  principle  and  result 
do  not  differ,  and  names  ought  not  to  deceive. 
No  one  would  employ  a  gambler  in  a  trusted  po- 
sition.  No  one  would  have  him  for  his  partner  in 


206        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

business.  The  first  principle  of  business  is  self- 
preservation,  and  gambling  is  destruction.  The 
effect  of  business  is  continually  to  destroy  uncer- 
tainty, but  gambling  increases  it.  Chance  is 
there  only  to  catch  the  victim  and  enrich  the  pro- 
fessional. It  is  the  old  story  of  "  spider  and  fly." 
The  faro  box  is  built  with  springs;  the  races  are 
decided  before  they  are  run;  the  wheels  are 
stopped  at  the  will  of  the  fiend  behind  the  table; 
the  dice  are  loaded  and  the  cards  are  marked; 
cuffs  are  mirrors  and  sleeves  are  stacked  with 
aces. 

In  a  book  published  not  long  since  an  expert 
tells  us  that  in  London  alone  he  found  and  noted 
one  hundred  and  fifty  sorts  of  cards,  all  of  which 
were  marked  so  that  a  professional  could  read 
the  faces  from  the  backs  as  well  as  if  aces,  kings, 
and  jacks  were  in  full  view.  "  I  have  acted  as 
judge  at  horse  races,"  said  a  man,  "off  and  on 
for  twenty  years;  but  if  I  have  ever  seen  an 
honest  trial  of  speed  I  am  ignorant  when  it 
occurred." 

Across  all  the  tables  and  all  the  tracks  and 
through  all  the  pool  rooms  and  into  the  dens  I 
shout,  "  Foul,  foul,  infinitely  foul — foul  as  the 
schemes  of  hell!  "    I  even  shout  it  across  some  of 


PIECE  OF  LA  VA  FROM  THE  VOLCANO.  207 


the  social  games  which  cultivate  childhood  in 
evil  ways,  and  prepare  the  soil  for  the  lower 
forms  of  gambling.  A  boy  who  "  played 
marbles  for  keeps  "  was  sternly  rebuked  by  his 
mother  and  ordered  early  to  bed  as  a  punish- 
ment. He  begged  to  see  the  friends  who  were 
coming  in  that  evening  for  a  progressive  euchre 
party.  The  mother  so  far  relented  as  to  allow 
him  to  see  the  prizes  before  his  banishment. 
Next  morning  he  ran  to  the  parlor  to  see  the 
beautiful  things  again,  and  was  dismayed  to  find 
that  they  were  gone.  Appealing  to  his  pious 
mother,  he  was  told  that  "  The  people  who  won 
them  had  carried  them  away."  After  a  mo- 
ment's thought,  with  the  moral  perception  and  a 
logical  acuteness  which  his  mother  lacked,  the 
boy  said,  "  Mamma,  was  not  that  playing  for 
keeps?"  So  far  as  his  mother's  influence  could 
go,  that  boy  was  in  training  for  a  superb  gam- 
bler.   Foul,  foul,  is  the  whole  evil  operation. 

All  the  gambling  machinery  is  manufactured 
for  the  one  purpose  of  being  pickpockets  with- 
out getting  the  name.  It  is  highway  robbery  in 
a  building.  It  affects  all  business  directly  or 
indirectly.  Hundreds  of  thousands  of  dollars 
leak  out  every  year  from  the  merchant's  till  into 


2o8        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

the  gambling  hells.  Xo  wonder  that  detectives 
are  commonly  employed  by  large  merchants  to 
go  around  among  the  pool  rooms  and  see  if  their 
employees  frequent  them.  If  there  is  one  found 
the  employer  knows  at  once  he  cannot  be 
trusted;  his  interest  in  his  work  is  relaxing  and 
there  is  no  telling  when  he  will  begin  to  steal  in 
order  to  provide  himself  with  money  for  the 
satisfying  of  his  passion.  But,  alas!  alas!  what 
an  example  many  of  these  clerks  find  in  the 
employers  themselves,  many  of  whom  in  these 
cities  carry  from  twenty  to  forty  thousand  dol- 
lars to  invest  on  the  races  and  think  nothing  of 
venturing  as  much  as  ten  thousand  dollars  on  a 
single  race.  It  is  the  most  demoralizing  agency 
in  our  modern  business  world.  Its  white  ashes 
are  scattered  over  the  fairest  products  of  our 
commercial  transactions.  The  wealth  of  the 
world  is  crystallized  brain  and  muscle,  and  no 
man  has  the  right  to  a  farthing  of  it  without  giv- 
ing an  equivalent.  If  he  takes  it  by  any  other 
method  than  the  return  method  he  is  a  thief  and 
the  greatest  enemy  to  business  and  society. 

This  Volcano  also  belches  forth  death  to  the 
gambler  himself.  A  man  in  London,  keeping 
one  of  these  gambling  houses,  boasted  that  he 


PIECE  OF  LA  VA  FROM  THE  VOLCANO.  209 


had  ruined  a  nobleman  a  day.  The  manager  of 
another  one  of  these  established  institutions 
recently  said  to  a  reporter,  who  asked  him  the 
heaviest  amount  of  money  ever  won  at  his  table 
at  one  sitting:  "  Sixteen  thousand  dollars.  This 
amount  was  won  by  a  young  doctor  who  used  to 
play  here  frequently.  The  doctor  played  one 
hundred  dollars  on  the  colors,  and  a  continuous 
run  of  luck  put  him  sixteen  thousand  dollars 
ahead  of  the  game  in  an  evening's  play." 
"  Did  he  keep  it?  "  asked  the  reporter.  "  No. 
Few  people  who  play  on  the  outside  ever  keep 
their  winnings.  A  few  months  after  this  win- 
ning I  won  twenty  thousand  dollars  from  the 
doctor  in  one  night's  play.  He  continued  los- 
ing, and  six  months  later,"  said  the  gambler, 
"  we  picked  up  the  newspaper  one  morning  and 
found  that  he  had  committed  suicide  after  rob- 
bing his  sister's  estate  of  a  large  sum." 

This  is  the  testimony  of  the  Superintendent 
of  Police  of  New  York  city :  "  More  young  men 
have  stood  here  at  this  desk,  confessing  their 
first  offense  against  law  and  ascribing  their 
downfall  to  their  infatuation  for  pool-room 
gambling  than  I  would  care  to  attempt  to  esti- 
mat.    Actual  experience  has  satisfied  me  that  no 


210        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

form  of  gambling  offers  greater  temptations  to 
young  men  to  take  what  is  not  theirs.  As  horse- 
racing  is  conducted  now,  it  would  be  well  for  the 
community  to  stop  racing  altogether.  We  are 
sending  men  to  prison  right  along  on  account 
of  the  race-gambling  craze.  Homes  are  being 
destroyed,  and  the  lives  of  young  men  blighted 
every  day  in  this  city,  for  the  same  reason." 

One  of  the  greatest  business  men  of  New 
York  city  said:  "  A  considerable  proportion  of 
failures  in  business,  and  ninety  per  cent,  of  the 
defalcations  and  thefts  and  ruin  of  youth  among 
people  who  are  employed  in  places  of  trust,  are 
due  directly  to  gambling.  I  have  seen  in  my 
employment  so  much  misery  from  the  head  of 
the  family  neglecting  its  support  and  squander- 
ing his  earnings  in  the  lottery  or  the  policy  shop, 
and  promising  young  men  led  astray  in  a  small 
way  and  finally  becoming  fugitives  or  landing  in 
the  criminal  dock,  that  I  have  come  to  believe 
that  the  community  which  licenses  and  tolerates 
public  gambling  cannot  have  prosperity  in  busi- 
ness, religion  in  its  churches,  or  morality  among 
its  people." 

The  fact  is  evident  from  the  report  of  a  guar- 
antee company,  which  says  that  in  nineteen  years 


PIECE  OF  LAVA  FROM  THE  VOLCANO.  211 

it  had  insured  the  honesty  of  about  one  hundred 
and  forty  thousand  officials,  of  whom  over  two 
thousand  had  defaulted.  Considering  the  fact 
that  the  company  is  noted  for  its  conservatism  in 
taking  risks,  this  shows  a  sad  condition  of  affairs. 
The  report  of  the  company  places  the  blame  on 
the  prevalence  of  gambling  in  its  many  forms. 

A  recent  defalcation  of  a  trusted  clerk  re- 
vealed the  fact  that  he  had  stolen  one  hundred 
and  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  and  lost  it  all 
in  the  policy  shops  of  New  York  city.  In  these 
shops  workingmen  spend  their  hard  earnings  and 
leave  their  families  to  starve.  Boys,  catching  the 
spirit  that  breathes  through  them,  can  be  seen 
carrying  their  pennies  to  these  same  infernal 
institutions. 

A  traveler  says :  "  I  visited  the  great  gambling 
resort,  Monte  Carlo,  the  only  legalized  gambling 
house  in  the  world,  and  from  which  the  little 
principality,  Monaco,  derives  its  revenue  for  the 
support  of  its  government.  As  I  entered  the 
grand  casino,  rich  in  decoration  and  fascinating 
in  surroundings,  I  saw  the  gambling  tables,  the 
faro  tables,  the  roulette  tables,  surrounded  by  the 
old,  middle-aged,  and  the  young.  Piles  of  gold 
were  distributed  all  about.    There  at  the  table 


2  12         MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

was  the  '  Old  Traveler,'  cool  and  collected,  but 
with  mind  intent  on  the  game.  There  were 
women,  old  women,  who  apparently  had  ex- 
hausted the  pleasures  and  excitements  of  the 
world  and  society,  with  faces  hard,  severe,  and 
haggard,  utterly  absorbed  in  the  game.  There 
were  young  girls  with  the  blush  of  maidenhood 
on  their  fair  cheeks,  with  faces  flushed  and  eyes 
distended,  fiercely  watching  the  game  as  the  fatal 
card  was  turned.  What  a  revolting  scene! 
With  what  a  feeling  of  disgust  does  the  average 
American  turn  from  it."  Yet  we  have  precisely 
the  same  work  going  on,  with  results  almost  as 
appalling.  The  victims  hang  from  the  trees  in 
our  woods,  and  they  commit  suicide  without 
number  in  the  cities.  Untold  ruin  is  wrought  in 
a  thousand  directions,  because  this  vice  is  vitally 
related  to  all  other  vices.  Gambling  is  the  total 
debaucher  of  the  whole  man;  body  as  well  as 
soul.  There  are  few  old  gamblers.  Go  into  any 
gambling  hell  to-night  or  to-morrow  night,  and 
you  will  scarcely  see  a  man  above  forty  years  of 
age.  Only  the  young  men  gamble?  V/hy? 
Because  gamblers  do  not  grow  old.  They  die 
young.  No  serpent  ever  charmed  its  victim  with 
greater  power.    It  is  poison  to  every  drop  of 


PIECE  OF  LAVA  FROM  THE  VOLCANO.  213 


blood  in  his  veins.  It  is  the  rock  upon  which 
character  is  wrecked  and  no  life-line  reaches  the 
broken  mast.  The  most  difficult  man  to  reach 
on  earth  with  saving  power  is  the  gambler.  He 
is  out  in  such  a  deep  sea  and  he  is  such  a  total 
wreck.  Above  the  portals  of  every  gambling 
place  should  be  written:  "  He  who  enters  here  is 
dead  to  all  hope." 

Walpole  tells  of  a  certain  Lord  Stavordale, 
who,  when  under  twenty-one  years  of  age,  lost 
fifty-five  thousand  dollars  in  one  night,  but  re- 
covered it  by  a  single  great  stake,  whereupon  he 
swore  a  great  oath,  adding,  "  Now  if  I  had  been 
playing  deep,  I  might  have  won  millions."  It  is 
said  that  two  men  were  found  by  the  police  in 
Hampstead  Road  in  1812,  one  on  a  wall  and  the 
other  hanging  by  his  neck  from  a  lamp  post,  just 
"  shoved  off."  They  had  tossed  all  day,  first  for 
money,  then  for  their  clothes,  and  lastly  to  decide 
which  of  the  two  should  hang  the  other.  It  was 
a  logical  conclusion  to  the  day's  work.  It  is  the 
inevitable  conclusion  to  the  gambler's  day  on 
earth.  In  Philadelphia  a  young  man  went  into 
a  gambling  saloon,  lost  all  his  property,  then 
blew  his  brains  out,  and  before  the  blood  was 
washed  from  the  floor  by  the  maid,  the  comrades 


214        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

were  shuffling  cards  again.  A  man  in  Denver 
arose  from  the  gambling  table  one  night  and 
wrote,  with  a  pencil,  on  a  slip  of  paper,  these 
words:  "  I  have  now  lost  the  last  of  forty  thou- 
sand dollars;  all  gone  in  one  month."  He  then 
took  his  motherless  girl,  staked  her,  and  lost 
again. 

Forgery,  murder,  and  suicide  are  in  its  train. 
William  Cobbett  says,  "  I  never  in  my  whole  life 
knew  a  man  addicted  to  this  habit  who  was  not, 
in  some  way  or  other,  a  person  unworthy  of  con- 
fidence." How  it  grips  the  soul  like  a  demon  and 
blunts  every  feeling  of  humanity  is  illustrated 
by  the  anecdote  that  Walpole  tells,  of  a  man  who 
at  a  gambling  table  fell  down  in  a  fit  of  apoplexy, 
whereon  his  companions  instantly  began  to  bet 
upon  the  chances  of  his  recovery;  and  when  the 
physician  came  in,  they  positively  would  not 
allow  him  to  minister  to  the  sufferer,  on  the 
ground  that  it  would  affect  the  bet.  Some  of 
you  may  recollect  that  when,  a  good  many 
years  ago,  the  Prince  of  Wales  was  lying  dan- 
gerously ill  at  Sandringham,  his  life  was  hanging 
in  the  balance  and  heavy  stakes  were  laid  upon 
the  issue.  When  the  late  excellent  President 
Garfield  was  almost  given  up  by  his  doctors  a 


PIECE  OF  LAVA  FROM  THE  VOLCANO.  215 


similar  thing  occurred,  men  betting  large  sums, 
and  even  selling  pools  in  Chicago.  In  a  recent 
notorious  criminal  case,  when  all  the  country 
was  waiting  with  bated  breath  to  know  whether 
an  unhappy  woman  was  to  go  to  the  gallows  or 
to  be  reprieved,  I  saw  it  stated  that,  among  a 
certain  class  of  the  population  in  Liverpool  and 
elsewhere,  large  sums  were  staked  upon  the 
issue. 

Alfred  Tennyson,  the  poet  laureate  of  the 
English  world,  was  buried  in  Westminster 
Abbey.  Tennyson  was  the  matchless  singer 
who  paid  that  wonderful  tribute  to  Albert  the 
Good,  the  father  of  the  present  Prince  of  Wales. 
Thus  he  sang  of  Albert: 

"  Who  reverenced  his  conscience  as  his  king  ; 
Whose  glory  was  redressing  human  wrong  ; 
Who  spoke  no  slander — no,  nor  listened  to  it  ; 
Who  loved  one  only,  and  who  clave  to  her. 

"  Not  swaying  to  this  faction  or'to  that  ; 
Not  making  his  high  place  the  lawless  perch 
Of  winged  ambitions,  nor  a  vantage  ground 
For  pleasure,  but  through  all  this  tract  of  years, 
Wearing  the  white  flower  of  a  blameless  life, 
Before  a  thousand  peering  littlenesses, 
In  that  fierce  light  which  beats  upon  a  throne 
And  blackens  every  blot." 


216        MIDXIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


And  yet  while  they  were  burying  the  great 
poet  and  while  the  whole  world  stood  with  un- 
covered head,  even  outside  of  England,  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  instead  of  going  to  the  burial, 
preferred  to  spend  the  day  at  the  race  track! 

The  fruits  upon  this  tree  in  highest  life  and 
lowest  alike  are  dishonesty,  selfishness,  perjury, 
political  corruption,  suicide,  murder,  and  death. 
The  whole  business,  from  stock  gambling  to 
policy  shop,  bears  the  mark  of  Cain.  Nothing 
scorches  the  soul  like  this,  nothing  leaves  such 
an  open  crater  of  ruin  as  this.  Nothing  carries 
such  uncompounded  wickedness  as  this.  Noth- 
ing smites  the  growing  and  promising  tree  of 
young  life  with  such  lightning  strokes  as  this. 
Not  any  thing  in  all  the  catalogue  of  evil  forces 
seems  to  have  greater  power  to  blast  character 
and  fix  destiny  than  this.  Keep  flowers  from 
the  gambler's  grave,  and  Scripture  from  his 
tombstone.  They  would  be  mockery;  they 
would  be  blasphemy.  Oh,  young  man!  in  the 
name  of  all  that  is  good  and  true  on  earth ;  in  the 
name  of  your  immortal  soul;  in  the  name  of  a 
mother's  love  and  a  father's  counsel,  in  the  name 
of  the  Christ  for  whose  garment  they  cast  lots  on 
Calvary,  keep  thy  hands  clean. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE    AMERICAN    "  JOSS  "  HOUSE. 

The  darkness  of  heathenism  does  not  all  rest 
upon  Central  Africa  or  inland  China;  some  of 
those  somber  robes  have  fallen  upon  the  shoul- 
ders of  this  great  continent.  The  Chinese 
"  Joss  "  house  has  been  erected  in  our  cities,  but 
there  is  an  American  "  Joss,"  which  more  hearts 
are  serving  and  to  which  more  knees  are  bend- 
ing in  all  reality  of  idol  worship. 

I  was  recently  in  the  Chinese  "  Joss  "  house  in 
New  York  city,  and  saw  the  false  god  and  his 
worshipers.  They  were  falling  down  prostrate 
before  his  hideous  picture.  They  burned  the 
candle,  and  made  the  smoke  to  rise  before  him 
while  he  caused  their  number  to  fall  from  the 
shaken  box  to  reveal  their  future.  The  gam- 
bler who  had  lost  his  money  burned  a  paper  at 
the  altar,  and  over  the  ashes  of  this  symbol  of 
his  loss  he  prayed  for  forgiveness  and  for  better 
217 


2i8        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

luck  next  time.  The  whole  house  and  its  fur- 
nishings, and  its  worship  and  its  priest,  were 
supremely  ridiculous.  The  doors  of  my  heart 
were  pushed  open  and  a  peculiar  sadness  en- 
tered. The  doors  of  my  thought  turned  out- 
ward and  admitted  the  question:  What  is  the 
difference  between  a  false  god  of  wood  or  stone 
and  the  false  god  of  gold?  Before  this  "  Gold 
god  "  a  large  part  of  our  population  are  lying 
with  their  faces  in  the  dust.  This  is  the  idol  at 
whose  crimson  altar  thousands  of  lives  are  con- 
stantly sacrificed  in  these  cities. 

"  Deeds  are  done,  the  foulest, 
Murders  yet  untold, 
Wrongs  the  worst,  the  basest, 
For  the  sake  of  gold. 

"  Love,  and  truth,  and  justice 
Eagerly  are  sold, 
Sacrificed  most  foully 
At  the  shrine  of  gold. 

"  Many  a  corpse  now  lying 
Naked,  stiff,  and  cold, 
Never  would  have  lain  there 
But  for  tempting  gold. 

"  Health,  and  life,  and  honor, 
Both  by  young  and  old, 
Readily  are  bartered 
For  the  sake  of  gold. 


THE  AMERICAN  "JOSS"  HOUSE. 


219 


"  And  the  past  is  hidden, 

Buried  'neath  Time's  mold, 
If  its  grave  be  covered 
With  a  tomb  of  gold. " 

The  passion  for  gold  has  entered  most  of  our 
American  blood  and  has  made  money-getting 
the  only  success.  It  is  not  genius  or  skill  or  art 
or  sacrifice,  but  the  power  to  get  and  to  hold 
wealth.  Its  cruelty  has  been  the  means  of  de- 
grading labor  and  destroying  the  worker.  This 
Golden  Calf  must  be  ground  to  powder  between 
the  millstones  of  the  wrath  of  Almighty  God  be- 
fore much  relief  can  come  to  the  sufferings  of 
society.  Even  the  boys  and  girls  now  consider 
work,  or  a  trade,  or  a  simple  living,  a  fence  about 
them  to  be  broken  down.  The  one  ambition  is 
for  money  and  more  money,  and  a  consequent 
life  of  ease.  In  this  mad  rush  virtue  and 
honesty  are  trampled  under  foot.  A  fortune 
must  be  made,  and  sharpness  and  unscrupulous- 
ness  are  the  agents  to  secure  this  coveted  object. 
Labor  is  a  curse  and  money  is  the  only  blessing. 
This  is  the  plague-spot  in  our  civilization.  The 
great  crowds  surge  through  the  streets  and  the 
stores.  Men  fisdit  on  the  exchange  and  in  the 
market;  they  quarrel  in  the  factories  and  push 


220        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

each  other  on  cars  and  bridge;  all  bent  on  the 
same  errand  and  all  worshiping  at  the  throne 
of  the  same  false  god.  There  is  no  more  power- 
ful agent  on  earth  for  the  destruction  of  that 
which  is  noblest  and  divinest  in  humankind. 

One  of  the  greatest  Americans  said:  "The 
healthiest  form  of  human  society  is  where  the 
many  are  equally  independent  in  the  manage- 
ment of  their  affairs;  where  professions  and 
trades  are  represented  by  individual  thinking 
minds;  and  where  those  engaged  in  any  one 
branch  of  industry  stand  on  a  level  with  one 
another.  This  condition  of  things  promotes 
invention,  activity,  interest,  manliness,  and  good 
citizenship.  Now  the  gold-hunt  system  is 
directly  antagonistic  to  all  this.  It  seeks  to 
destroy  the  many  independent  tradesmen,  and  to 
make  them  servants  in  a  gigantic  monopoly. 
The  happy  homes  of  freemen  become  the  pinched 
quarters  of  serfs.  The  lords  of  trade  have  their 
hundreds  and  thousands  of  humble  subordinates 
over  whom  they  rule,  often  with  a  rod  of  iron. 
They  may  be  turned  away  from  work  and  wages 
at  any  moment,  by  any  whim  of  the  selfish 
employer.  Hence,  through  fear  of  this,  they 
lose  their  manhood,  and  dare  not  assert  even  a 


THE  AMERICAN  "JOSS"  HOUSE.  221 

decision  of  their  conscience.  There  is  no  more 
melancholy  sight  to  my  eyes  than  that  which  I 
often  see  nowadays — the  former  happy  possessor 
of  a  shop  or  store,  who  has  lived  comfortably 
and  with  the  true  nobility  of  a  citizen,  and  whose 
family  have  felt  the  dignity  of  the  home,  now 
made  a  clerk  and  drudge  in  a  huge  establishment 
that,  by  its  relentless  use  of  millions,  has  under- 
mined and  overthrown  all  the  independent  stores 
of  a  large  district,  while  his  family  are  thrust 
into  the  unsavory  communism  of  a  tenement 
house,  and  lose  all  the  delicate  refinement  of  a 
quiet  home.  It  is  easy  to  say  that  this  is  but  the 
natural  law  of  trade.  So  to  devour  men  is  the 
natural  law  of  tigers.  But  this  truth  will  not 
reconcile  us  to  the  process.  If  we  are  to  stop 
men  from  stealing  directly,  we  can  stop  them 
from  stealing  indirectly.  If  natural  law  works 
evil  to  the  community,  we  are  to  make  statute 
law,  which  will  act  as  supernatural  law  and  con- 
trol the  offensive  principle.  Unless  we  wish  our 
social  equality  destroyed,  and  a  system  of  prac- 
tical serfdom  to  take  its  place,  we  must  put  a 
limit  to  the  acts  of  greed,  and  so  preserve  the 
independence  of  our  citizens." 

By  this  false  god  the  rich  are  cursed  and  the 


2  22        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

poor  are  crushed.  This  foot  of  oppression  rests 
upon  the  necks  of  men,  women,  and  children  by 
the  million.  He  is  the  cause  of  most  of  the 
wrongs  of  society  and  the  quarrels  of  men.  The 
bloody  struggle  between  Capital  and  Labor  will 
reach  no  amicable  solution  at  his  throne.  There 
is  a  white  slavery,  and  he  is  the  cruel  master 
with  lash  in  hand.  He  snaps  it  above  the 
sweat-shop  and  the  counter,  and  the  machine 
and  the  store,  and  the  street  and  the  tenement 
house,  and  everywhere. 

This  "  Joss  "  is  the  ruin  of  those  who  possess 
him,  and  is  the  oppression  of  the  poor.  Many 
men  in  these  great  cities  are  spending  their 
whole  lives  and  shortening  their  lives  in  the 
relentless  grasp  of  this  craze  for  gold,  only  to  dis- 
cover too  late  their  murderous  folly.  They  are 
the  victims  of  a  fatal  mirage.  A  man  recently 
set  out  from  Juarez,  Mexico,  to  go  to  Palomas  in 
New  Mexico,  and  nearly  lost  his  life  from  a 
mirage  delusion.  He  was  driving  his  wagon 
when  he  saw  a  short  distance  off  in  the  desert  a 
beautiful  lake  shadowed  by  trees.  Both  he  and 
his  team  were  thirsty,  so  he  turned  out  of  his 
course  to  get  the  water.  After  traveling  some 
miles  the  lake  seemed  as  far  off  as  at  first,  but  it 


THE  AMERICAN  "JOSS"  HOUSE.  223 


was  there,  clear,  distinct,  before  him.  He  con- 
tinued in  the  direction  of  the  lake  and  fancied 
that  he  could  feel  on  his  face  the  fresh  breeze 
from  the  water,  but  as  the  distance  did  not 
diminish,  at  last  the  idea  of  his  delusion  dawned 
on  him,  and  he  turned  back  toward  the  road. 
But  the  night  overcame  him.  He  lost  his  way. 
On  the  morrow  he  could  not  recognize  any  indi- 
cation of  his  course.  All  his  efforts  to  find  the 
road  were  unavailing.  At  last,  after  a  terrible 
struggle  of  four  days,  wrestling  with  heat  and 
hunger,  and  with  thirst,  he  succeeded  in  reach- 
ing the  road  more  dead  than  alive.  Life's 
struggle  to  reach  the  shining  and  glitter  of  gold 
has  resulted  in  like  delusion. 

The  following  incident  from  a  recent  pen  tells 
the  sad  story:  "  A  man  who  started  in  life  deter- 
mined to  get  rich,  by  fair  means  or  foul,  had 
accumulated  a  fortune  estimated  at  forty  million 
dollars.  He  was  shut  up  in  his  chamber  in  a 
hotel,  suffering  from  an  incurable  disease.  He 
had  been  divorced  from  his  wife.  He  had  quar- 
reled with  his  children.  He  had  no  home — no 
one  to  minister  to  him  but  hired  servants.  He 
knew  that  he  could  live  only  a  few  months 
and  that  when  he  died,  those  between  whom 


224        MIDXIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

and  himself  there  had  been  no  sympathy  or 
reciprocity  of  affection  would  inherit,  quarrel 
over,  and  squander  his  wealth.  One  would 
think  that  a  man  so  situated  would  feel  like  try- 
ing to  make  friends  with  his  money.  One 
would  think  that  he  would  say  to  himself,  '  I 
have  been  envied  and  hated  because  I  was  self- 
ish and  grasping.  But  I  will  use  some  of  my 
millions  so  that  somebody  will  bless  me  in  my 
days  of  sickness  and  pain  and  cherish  my  mem- 
ory when  I  am  gone.'  He  could  not  do  this, 
however.  The  ruling  passion  was  too  strong. 
On  the  contrary  he  did  what  was  so  inhuman 
that  I  do  not  hesitate  to  call  it  satanic.  Read 
on  and  see. 

"  He  put  several  millions  into  the  hands  of 
trusted  agents,  who  were  to  share  the  profits 
with  him.  They  were  to  get  up  a  panic,  and 
when  the  farmers  were  badly  scared  and  other 
buyers  were  out  of  the  market  because  he  and 
his  confederates  had  locked  up  all  the  money, 
they  bought  some  four  or  five  million  bushels  of 
wheat  and  stored  it.  They  hoped  to  '  bull '  the 
market  in  selling,  as  they  had  '  beared  '  it  in 
buying.  Their  plan  was  to  rob  the  producers 
by  getting  their  produce  at  less  than  it  was 


THE  AMERICAN  "JOSS"  HOUSE.  225 


worth,  and  then  to  rob  the  consumers  by  making 
them  pay  more  than  it  was  worth.  Yes,  this 
multi-millionaire  meant  to  squeeze  a  million  out 
of  the  sellers  and  then  another  million  out  of  the 
buyers,  because  he  was  rich  enough  to  control 
the  market.  He  knew  that,  if  he  were  success- 
ful, thousands  would  curse  him  as  he  lay  in  his 
coffin.  But  what  did  he  care,  if  he  could  add 
two  millions  to  his  forty  while  on  his  dying- 
bed?  Oh,  the  folly,  the  madness  of  this  insati- 
able greed!  Truly  they  who  will  be  rich  fall 
into  temptation  and  a  snare.  They  think  that 
they  own  their  millions,  but  will  wake  up  here- 
after, if  not  in  this  world,  to  realize  that  their 
millions  owned  them.  A  golden  chain  may  be 
as  heavy  and  galling  as  one  of  iron.  The  hun- 
ger for  riches  is  worse  than  the  hunger  for  bread, 
for  it  gnaws  the  soul." 

Self-sacrifice  is  at  the  foundation  of  noble  char- 
acter, and  this  greed  had  made  those  granite 
blocks  to  crumble  and  the  superstructure  to 
totter  and  at  last  to  fall.  Home  is  neglected,  and 
church  is  neglected,  and  country  is  neglected. 
Every  second  runs  through  the  same  yellow 
channel  from  early  morning  until  late  at  night, 
and  sometimes  seven  days  in  the  week,  until 


226        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

many  a  father  in  our  modern  city  life  is  a 
stranger  in  his  own  home  and  will  forever  be  a 
stranger  in  heaven.  The  principle  of  true  living 
and  his  right  relation  to  his  fellow-man  are  all 
sacrificed  to  his  determination  to  rise  above 
others  by  stepping  upon  their  prostrate  forms. 
This  is  the  tendency  of  our  present  system  of 
competition.  The  smaller  merchants  are  gradu- 
ally succumbing  to  the  inevitable  and  giving  up 
their  own  business,  to  suffer  in  poverty  or  to  be- 
come clerks  for  the  monopolists.  In  the  centers 
where  millions  live  and  toil  a  few  large  stores  do 
practically  all  the  business  to-day  and  those 
establishments  are  a  veritable  mint.  In  the 
present  system  it  ems  unavoidable,  but  that 
makes  it  none  the  less  condemnable.  The  poor 
are  growing  poorer  and  more  in  number  and  the 
rich  are  growing  richer  and  fewer  in  number  in 
the  city,  while  the  "  Golden  Joss  "  laughs  on  his 
apparently  hie  throne.  But  there  is  justice 
beneath  this  free  soil,  and  the  rumblings  of  an 
earthquake  are  destined  to  be  heard  above  the 
sound  of  that  cruel  laugh  and  to  shatter  that 
heathenish  form. 

Clerks  are  made  to  stand  behind  the  counters 
from  morning  until  night  for  pay  which  is  some- 


THE  AMERICAN  "JOSS"  HOUSE.  227 

times  amazing  for  its  meanness,  in  order  that  one 
man's  purse  may  burst  with  fatness.  I  know 
of  at  least  one  store  which  coined  thousands  and 
tens  of  thousands  of  dollars  at  the  holiday  sea- 
son and  which  forced  its  great  army  of  clerks  to 
work  from  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  until 
eleven  o'clock  at  night,  with  opportunity  for  one 
eating  time  and  with  not  one  farthing  of  extra 
pay  for  two  weeks  of  that  kind  of  barbarous 
slavery.  I  know  of  young  women  in  this  city, 
working  now  in  one  of  the  largest  stores  in 
America,  for  the  astonishing  pay  of  two  and  a 
half  dollars  per  week!  Is  it  any  wonder  that 
purity  vanishes?  How  can  they  live?  Alas! 
alas!  it  too  often  means  starvation  or  stain. 
For  the  sake  of  this  "  Gold  God  "  young  men 
and  young  women  are  forced  to  sacrifice  their 
honesty  and  veracity  at  his  altar.  It  is  the  same 
inhuman  sword  which  the  Turkish  hand  swings 
above  the  head  of  the  oppressed  and  suffering 
Armenian.  They  must  lie  or  lose  their  position; 
they  must  forget  that  "  Lying  lips  are  an  abomi- 
nation to  the  Lord,"  while  they  render  worship 
to  "  Gold."  Their  goods  must  be  sold  at  all 
hazards,  and  if  a  lie  is  necessary  the  lie  must  be 
told  and  be  considered  as  a  part  of  business.  If 


228        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

all  the  lies  could  be  gathered  out  of  the  stores  in 
a  single  city  at  the  close  of  a  single  day — what  a 
spectacle  for  men  and  angels.  A  mercantile  lie 
is  as  black  as  any  other  member  of  that  colored 
family,  whether  it  is  told  before  or  behind  the 
counter;  it  will  be  heard  again  before  the  judg- 
ment bar  of  God,  and  poor  "  Gold  Joss  "  will 
not  be  able  to  furnish  any  relief. 

The  "  bargain  counter "  in  these  stores  is 
also  a  part  of  his  altar,  and  I  have  seen  blood- 
marks  upon  it.  From  whence  do  "  bargains  " 
come?  Do  they  drop  from  the  skies  to  the 
counter?  Ah,  no!  They  come  from  the  homes 
and  the  hands  and  the  hearts  of  the  poor.  There 
was  a  time  when  the  price  was  but  one  factor  in 
a  sale.  It  is  now  almost  everything.  This 
spirit  of  getting  something  for  less  than  cost  has 
permeated  all  commerce.  "  Bargains  "  are  the 
loadstone  of  attraction.  If  there  is  gain  here  to 
one,  there  is  loss  somewhere  else  to  another. 
The  starvation  of  sewing  women  is  the  comple- 
ment of  the  "  bargain  "  counter.  There  is  noth- 
ing on  earth  so  cheap  as  flesh  and  blood,  because 
it  never  touches  the  limit  of  cost.  There  must 
be  dishonesty  in  material  or  wages  must  be  cut, 
if  the  stream  of  "  bargains  "  continues  to  flow. 


THE  AMERICAN  "JOSS"  HOUSE.  229 

Cheap  goods  and  cheap  men  live  together. 
Whoever  buys  much  for  little  can  see,  if  he  looks 
intently,  the  stain  of  human  blood  upon  it,  and 
if  he  listens  intently  might  hear  the  pathetic 
sound : 

"  And  oh,  full  oft,  quite  spent  and  weary, 
Her  hand  will  pause,  her  head  decline  ; 
That  labor  seems  so  hard  and  dreary 
On  which  no  ray  of  hope  may  shine." 

We  have  read  somewhere  that  in  one  of  the 
old  cities  of  Italy  the  king  caused  a  bell  to  be 
hung  in  a  tower  and  called  it  the  "  bell  of  jus- 
tice." He  likewise  ordered  that  anyone  who 
had  been  wronged  should  ring  that  bell,  and  the 
magistrate  should  come  to  his  relief.  In  the 
course  of  time  the  lower  part  of  the  rope  rotted 
away,  and  a  wild  vine  was  tied  to  lengthen  it. 
A  starving  horse  that  had  been  turned  out  to 
die  in  old  age,  seeing  the  vine,  gnawed  it,  and  in 
doing  so  rang  the  bell.  Straightway  came  the 
magistrate,  and  having  ascertained  in  whose 
service  the  animal's  life  1  ad  been  spent,  he  said: 

The  dumb  brute  has  rung  the  bell  of  justice, 
and  justice  he  shall  have;  the  owner  shall  care 
for  him  the  rest  of  his  days."  Humane  magis- 
trate! 


230        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

This  part  of  suffering  humanity  is  ringing  the 
"  bell  of  justice."  Let  the  city  hear  its  solemn 
tone!  From  garret  of  tenement  and  hovel  and 
factory  it  rings  above  the  mad  rush  for  gold.  It 
tells  the  sad  story  of  thousands  and  tens  of  thou- 
sands, and  now,  almost  hundreds  of  thousands 
in  a  single  city  in  hunger  and  cold,  working  their 
life  out  at  the  machine,  or  losing  their  blood  by 
the  piercings  of  the  needle,  in  order  that  the  few 
may  have  more  gold.  Heart-breaking  despair 
have  I  seen  again  and  again  in  these  lives  and 
homes. 

How  well  their  grief  was  voiced  by  that 
despairing  woman  who  stood  by  her  invalid 
husband  and  invalid  child,  and  said  to  the  city 
missionary:  "I  am  downhearted,  everything's 
against  us;  and  then  there  are  other  things." 
"What  other  things?"  said  the  city  missionary. 
<4  Oh,"  she  repeated,  "  my  sin."  "  What  do  you 
mean  by  that?"  "  Well,"  she  said,  "I  never 
hear  or  see  anything  good.  It's  work  from 
Monday  morning  till  Saturday  night,  and  then 
when  Sunday  comes  I  can't  go  out,  and  I  walk 
the  floor,  and  it  makes  me  tremble  to  think  that 
I  have  got  to  meet  God.  Oh,  sir!  it's  so  hard 
for  us.    We  have  to  work  so,  and  we  have  so 


THE  AMERICAN  "JOSS"    HOUSE.  231 

much  trouble,  and  then  we  are  getting  along  so 
poorly;  and  see  this  wee  little  thing  growing 
weaker  and  weaker;  and  then  to  think  we  are 
not  getting  nearer  to  God  but  floating  away  from 
Him.    Oh,  sir!  I  do  wish  I  was  ready  to  die." 

All  the  shot  and  shell  of  earth  have  not  made 
such  havoc  as  is  seen  on  this  battlefield  for  life 
in  the  great  city  in  order  that  goods  may  be 
sold  cheap.  There  are  manufacturing  establish- 
ments in  these  cities  which  secure  almost  all  their 
labor  by  false  pretense.  They  advertise  for  help 
and  then  promise  them  good  pay  when  they 
have  learned  the  trade.  The  sewing  goes  on  for 
days  and  weeks  and  months,  with  a  constant 
repetition  of  the  promise  which  is  never  fulfilled. 
Was  there  ever  a  more  satanic  method  of  steal- 
ing invented?  Those  goods  are  on  the  counters 
of  the  best  stores. 

"What  can  we  do?"  said  one  manufacturer 
lately,  when  asked  how  he  thought  the  thing 
would  end.  "  If  there  were  any  power  quicker 
than  steam,  or  any  way  of  managing  so  that 
women  could  feed  five  or  six  machines,  that 
would  have  to  come  next,  else  every  one  of  us 
would  go  to  the  wall  together,  the  pressure  is  so 
tremendous.    Of  course  there's  no  chance  for 


232         MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

the  women,  but  then  you  must  remember  there's 
precious  little  chance  for  the  employer  either. 
This  competition  is  a  sort  of  insanity.  It  gluts 
the  market  with  cheap  goods  and  gives  a  sense 
of  prosperity,  but  it  is  the  death  of  all  legitimate, 
reasonable  business.  It  won't  surprise  me  if 
this  whole  trade  of  manufacturing  underwear 
becomes  a  monopoly,  and  one  man — like 
O'H.,  for  instance — swallows  up  the  whole 
thing.  Lord  help  the  women  then!  for  there'll 
be  no  help  in  man."  "  Suppose  co-operation 
were  tried?  what  would  be  the  effect?"  "No 
effect,  because  there  isn't  confidence  anywhere 
to  make  men  dare  a  co-operative  scheme.  Even 
the  workers  would  distrust  it,  and  a  sharp  busi- 
ness man  laughs  in  your  face  if  you  mention  the 
word.  It  doesn't  suit  American  notions.  It 
might  be  a  good  thing  if  there  were  any  old- 
fashioned  business  men  left, — men  content  with 
slow  profits  and  honest  dealing, — as  my  father 
was,  for  instance.  But  he  wouldn't  have  a  ghost 
of  a  chance  to-day.  The  whole  system  of  busi- 
ness is  rotten  and  there  will  have  to  be  a  recon- 
struction clean  from  the  bottom,  though  it  is  the 
men  that  need  it  first.  We're  the  maddest 
nation  for  money  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  and 


THE  AMERICAN  "JOSS"  HOUSE.  233 


the  race  is  a  more  killing  one  every  year.  I  am 
half  inclined  to  think  sometimes  that  mankind 
will  soon  be  pretty  much  a  superfluity,  the  ma- 
chines are  getting  so  intelligent;  and  it  may  be 
these  conditions  that  seem  to  upset  you  so  are 
simply  means  of  killing  off  those  that  are  not 
wanted  and  giving  place  to  a  less  sensitive  order 
of  beings.  Lord  help  them!  I  say  again,  for 
there's  no  help  in  man." 

The  Angel  of  Life,  so  runs  the  legend,  was  sent 
out  to  find  where  Happiness  dwelt.  He  went 
first  to  a  palace,  but  he  found  the  owner  wearing 
a  crown  whose  sharp  and  jagged  edges  pierced 
his  brow.  Then  he  flew  to  a  hovel,  but  as  he 
heard  the  cries  for  bread,  he  hastened  away. 
Then  the  angel  was  told  to  measure  the  distance 
between  the  palace  and  the  hovel,  and  in  the 
center  plant  a  tree  called  Justice.  This  he  did. 
The  rich  man  was  then  told  to  walk  toward  the 
hovel  and  the  poor  man  toward  the  palace. 
They  met  at  the  tree,  and  when  it  had  grown  to 
a  goodly  size  they  dwelt  under  its  shade  in  peace 
and  happiness  for  evermore.  That  is  the  only 
solution.  As  long  as  their  "  Gold  God  "  con- 
tinues to  be  worshiped,  the  scorching  days  of 
summer  and  the  marrow-piercing  days  of  winter 


234        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

will  hear  the  cry  of  white-faced  children  starving 
for  bread  and  shivering  for  rags;  the  winds  will 
carry  the  moan  of  women  who  toil  on,  some- 
times sixteen  hours  a  day,  and  the  sighs  of  men 
out  of  employment  by  the  quicker  work  of 
machinery  and  the  demand  for  bargains. 

A  baker  died  in  New  York  city  and  left  the 
provision  in  his  will  that  a  half  loaf  of  stale 
bread  should  be  given  to  every  man  who  came 
for  it  at  twelve  o'clock  at  night.  Every  night 
for  years  past  hundreds  of  hungry  men  have 
formed  in  line  at  that  bakery  at  the  midnight 
hour.  Sometimes  that  line  has  reached  more 
than  two  blocks.  When  I  saw  these,  my 
brothers,  on  a  bitter  winter's  night  shivering  in 
the  cruel  winds  as  they  waited  for  the  bread  and 
a  tin  cup  of  coffee,  my  heart  was  crowded  with 
unwelcome  visitors.  Only  one  did  I  see  in  all 
that  great  number  with  an  overcoat  to  shield 
him  from  the  cold  blasts.  Scarcely  a  man  of 
them  bore  the  marks  of  dissipation,  but  all  were 
starving  for  the  want  of  work,  and  willing  to 
walk  miles  and  shovel  snow  for  a  half  hour,  as  I 
saw  them  do,  in  order  to  receive  a  half  loaf  of  old 
bread.  That  line  of  sadness  reached  almost 
around  one  of  the  largest  churches  in  the  city, 


THE  AMERICAN  "JOSS"  HOUSE.  235 


which  stood  on  the  corner  and  which  held  mil- 
lions of  dollars  in  the  hands  of  its  worshipers. 
I  looked  at  it,  that  never  to  be  forgotten  night, 
and  then  at  that  awful  sight  of  suffering,  starv- 
ing humanity,  and  had  many  serious  thoughts 
about  the  "  Gold  God."  I  looked  out  of  my 
window  while  writing  these  words  and  saw  the 
hands  of  men,  women,  and  children  thrust  into 
every  ash  barrel  along  the  street  for  cinders  or 
for  something  to  eat  or  to  wear,  while  the  car- 
riages, with  prancing  steeds  and  gold-covered 
harness,  rolled  by  on  their  way  to  the  Temple  of 
the  "  Gold  God." 

It  was  an  evil  day  when  the  head  of  the  house 
lost  his  job.  For  four  months  he  looked  for 
work.  Save  for  an  occasional  odd  chore  he 
could  find  nothing  to  do.  Then  the  frail  wife 
and  mother  came  forward  in  the  role  of  bread- 
winner. She  was  not  strong  enough  to  do 
much,  but  she  found  an  office  to  take  care  of, 
which,  with  a  small  family  washing  that  she 
took  home  to  do,  netted  her  just  $3.25  per  week. 
Gradually  their  household  belongings  were 
transferred  to  the  pawnbroker's,  and  their 
pinched  faces  stared  poverty  in  the  face.  One 
morning,  two  months  ago,  the  husband  kissed 


236         MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREA  T  CITY. 

the  children  with  more  than  wonted  affection 
and  left  home  ostensibly  to  look  for  work.  He 
did  not  return.  No  trace  of  him  has  been  seen 
since.  The  wife  thinks  he  was  unable  to  bear 
the  unequal  struggle  for  existence,  and  so  took 
his  own  life.  From  bad  to  worse  matters 
quickly  went.  The  rent  of  the  two  tiny  rooms 
at  573  West  43d  Street  was  long  overdue  and 
the  children  were  starving,  so  she  tearfully  asked 
if  she  could  put  little  Johnnie — whose  appetite 
is  the  most  appalling — away  for  a  time.  She 
was  asked  how  she  could  feed  the  other  five. 
After  a  little  talk  she  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
she  could  support  three  much  more  easily. 
Magistrate  Deuel,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  com- 
mitted the  youngsters.  The  parting  between 
the  mother  and  her  babies  would  have  melted 
the  hardest  heart  that  ever  steeled  itself  against 
the  poverty  and  misery  that  exist  on  every  side. 
But  the  worshipers  at  the  shrine  of  which  I 
write  never  paused  in  their  idolatry. 

One  Edward  Herringe,  an  aged  brass  and 
wood  worker,  hanged  himself  in  his  tenement 
the  other  day.  Why?  A  Mrs.  Uhl,  one  of  the 
tenants  of  the  building,  tells  us  why.  "  He 
died,"  said  she,  seeking  to  express  herself  in 


THE  AMERICAN  "JOSS"  HOUSE.  237 


English,  "  that  his  wife  and  little  ones  might 
have  life.  He  had  one  thousand  dollars  life 
insurance,  which  money,  you  see,  now  they  will 
get.  They  could  not  have  it  while  he  was  alive. 
And  that  poor  man  tried  so  hard  to  get  bread 
for  his  family;  he  was  old  and  could  not  talk 
English,  and  nobody  would  believe  he  was  a 
good  workman.  For  most  two  years  he  had 
nothing  to  do,  and  he  walk  the  streets,  hungry 
and  weak,  looking  for  any  odd  job  he  might  get 
to  do.  He  often  came  to  me,  and  I  gave  him  a 
little  money,  and  he  always  paid  it  back  so  soon 
as  he  had  work.  A  little  while  ago  he  came  to 
me  and  said,  '  For  God's  sake,  Mrs.  Uhl,  let  me 
have  a  dollar  to  save  my  life  insurance.  God 
will  pay  you/  I  said,  '  Yes,  you  shall  have  the 
dollar/  and  I  did  give  him  my  last  dollar  I  had  in 
the  house,  for  my  husband  he  work  by  the  day, 
and  we  have  not  much.  He  went  away,  and  I 
know  what  he  meant  when  he  said,  '  God  will 
pay  you.'  He  knew,"  and  the  motherly  eyes 
rilled  with  tears,  "  he  knew  what  he  must  do  to 
keep  them  alive  a  couple  of  years  anyway,  and 
he  knew  he  never  would  pay  me.  Oh,  you  do 
not  know  how  glad  I  am  that  I  gave  that  good 
man  my  last  dollar."    That  took  place  in  a 


238        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 


Christian  city.  Millions  of  dollars  were  on  the 
next  street,  but  every  farthing  of  it  was  under 
the  scepter  of  the  "  American  Joss."  Cruel,  in- 
human, bloodthirsty  idol;  the  cause  of  untold 
suffering  and  unblushing  crime;  the  murderer 
of  bodies;  the  shatterer  of  brains;  the  breaker 
of  hearts;  the  destroyer  of  souls! 

"  '  With  gates  of  silver,  and  bars  of  gold, 

Ye  have  fenced  my  sheep  from  their  father's  fold. 
I  have  heard  the  dropping  of  their  tears 
In  heaven  these  eighteen  hundred  years.' 

"  4  O  Lord  and  Master,  not  ours  the  guilt, 
We  build  but  as  our  fathers  built : 
Behold  Thine  images,  how  they  stand, 
Sovereign  and  sole,  through  all  the  land.' 

"  Then  Christ  sought  out  an  artisan, 

A  low-browed,  stunted,  haggard  man  ; 
And  a  motherless  girl,  whose  fingers  thin 
Pushed  from  her  faintly  want  and  sin. 

"  These  sat  He  in  the  midst  of  them, 

And  as  they  drew  back  their  garment-hem  ; 
For  fear  of  defilement,  '  Lo,  here,'  said  He, 
'  The  IMAGES  ye  have  made  of  ME  ! '  " 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


THE    MORNING  BREAKETH. 

Every  night  has  had  its  morning.  The  mid- 
night darkness  must  flee  before  the  forces  of 
light  when  they  climb  the  eastern  sky,  and  place 
their  lines  along  the  entire  horizon,  and  their 
banners  upon  every  mountain-top  and  every  hill- 
side. One  of  the  most  beautiful  and  most  in- 
spiring scenes  ever  presented  to  human  vision 
is  the  break  of  day,  and  the  gilding  of 
cloud  and  sky.  The  artists  from  the  studio  of 
nature  do  at  that  time  some  of  the  most  rapid 
and  most  wonderful  work  ever  placed  on  the 
palace  walls  of  our  world.  The  transformation 
from  a  night  into  a  day  by  such  master  strokes, 
and  in  that  exquisite  color,  surpasses  human 
appreciation  or  description. 

The  king  of  day  swings  his  scepter  above 
his  head,  and  the  flash  of  his  jewels  is  first  seen. 
Speedily  he  mounts  the  golden  stairway  to  his 
239 


240        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

throne,  and  all  enemies  take  their  flight,  and  all 
friends  bow  at  his  feet.  Darkness  has  been  ban- 
ished and  the  kingdom  of  light  once  more 
established  in  our  world.  I  have  seen  the  rays 
of  light  rise  above  the  eastern  hills  like  a  mighty 
army  with  drawn  swords  and  flashing  bayonets, 
and  no  power  was  able  to  withstand  their 
triumphant  march  across  world  and  sky.  Let 
the  night  be  never  so  dark,  the  morning  break- 
eth,  when  robes  of  mourning  are  hung  away  and 
garments  of  brightest  color  are  made  to  take 
their  places;  when  the  silence  is  broken  by  the 
music  of  many  voices  and  the  harmony  of  bird 
chorus;  when  the  flower  is  no  longer  found  to 
blush  unseen,  but  rests  beneath  the  admiring 
eyes  of  every  passer-by,  and  throws  fresh  fra- 
grance lavishly  into  an  atmosphere  almost  intoxi- 
cating; when  grass  and  tree,  and  garden,  and 
meadow  are  all  the  guests  of  this  reception  to  the 
king  of  the  morning.  Glorious  morning,  wel- 
come! Thrice  welcome,  after  the  darkest  night! 
However  black  may  be  the  moral  midnight  of 
city  life,  the  eye  should  ever  be  turned  toward  the 
eastern  sky,  and  faith  should  watch  for  the  mes- 
sengers to  tell  of  His  coming,  and  to  prepare  the 
way  for  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  to  move 


THE  MORNING  BREAKETH.  241 

across  His  palace  floor  and  to  sit  upon  His 
zenith  throne.  He  is  coming!  He  is  coming! 
And  the  last  remnant  of  darkness  shall  forever 
disappear,  and  the  clouds  shall  be  changed  into 
chariots  for  His  glory. 

When  the  black  ink  has  all  fallen  from  the 
writer's  pen,  he  must  finish  his  story  by  dipping 
into  the  crimson  bottle.  The  truth  must  be  told 
and  the  black  ink  must  be  used,  but  there  is  a 
brighter,  more  appropriate  color  for  the  last 
chapter.  The  Church  of  Christ  must  face  tre- 
mendous forces  of  evil  in  the  great  city,  but  the 
Church  is  a  tremendous  force  itself  and  the 
battle,  though  hard  and  long,  is  sure  to  be  won, 
and  the  Standard  of  the  Cross  to  move  in  an 
unhindered  march. 

What  are  the  conditions  that  the  Church  must 
face  to-day?  In  Chicago  it  must  face  a  com- 
bination of  7000  barrooms,  28,000  barkeepers, 
60,000  saloon  and  den  habitues,  40,000  harlots, 
30,000  professional  barroom  politicians,  12,000 
gamblers,  and  10,000  thieves.  These  are  the 
figures  given  out  by  the  Civic  Federation.  In 
New  York  the  Church  must  face  a  veritable  city 
of  barrooms.  If  gathered  together  in  rows  there 
wTould  be  barrooms  enough  to  line  Broadway 


242        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

its  entire  length;  cross  the  city  from  river  to 
river  at  Fourteenth  Street;  cross  it  again  at 
Twenty-third  Street,  and  line  both  sides  of  all 
three  streets  at  that.  They  would  form  an  un- 
broken line  of  grog  shops,  allowing  to  each  one 
twenty-five  feet  front,  forty-five  miles  long.  It 
must  face  an  annual  consumption  of  beer  that  if 
barreled  and  placed  end  to  end,  it  would  take  the 
Empire  State  Express,  running  at  the  rate  of 
fifty  miles  an  hour,  from  six  o'clock  Monday 
morning  until  seven  o'clock  Tuesday  night,  a 
continuous  run  of  thirty-seven  hours,  to  reach 
the  end  of  the  line.  But  the  forces  of  righteous- 
ness need  not  tremble  before  such  an  enemy  as 
that.  They  can  conquer  if  they  will,  and  I  verily 
believe  the  lines  of  intemperance  are  weakening, 
and  if  now  bravery  is  seen  on  this  other  Gettys- 
burg, America  and  the  world  and  all  heaven 
will  have  cause  for  rejoicing. 

A  section  of  the  city  of  New  York,  containing 
thirty-six  blocks,  has  a  population  of  28,266 
souls,  179  licensed  saloons,  and  just  3  churches; 
1  saloon  to  every  150  people  over  against  1 
church  to  every  9422  people.  In  forty-two  city 
blocks,  with  a  population  of  49>359>  tnere  are  237 
saloons  and  5  churches;  1  church  to  9872  people. 


THE  MORNING  BREAKETH.  243 

Take  still  larger  district  of  ninety-nine  city 
blocks,  containing  95,000  persons,  with  1  saloon 
to  every  170  people,  and  1  church  to  every  13,- 
571.  More  still,  take  all  that  part  of  New  York 
west  of  Tenth  Avenue,  between  Twenty-fourth 
and  Fifty-ninth  streets,  and  there  is  1  church  to 
every  32,000  people.  There  is  a  whole  district 
in  the  city  as  large  as  Detroit  (205,000)  that  is 
practically  without  a  single  Protestant  church, 
and  with  the  exception  of  three  Roman  Catholic 
churches  and  a  few  missions,  is  churchless. 
The  section  below  Fourteenth  Street  houses 
above  700,000  of  the  city's  wage-workers 
and  poor — where  forty-one  per  cent,  of  the 
people  live  in  a  single  room — where  the  condi- 
tions of  life  are  almost  more  appalling  than  any 
like  district  known  to  civilization.  While  200,000 
souls  moved  in,  17  Protestant  churches  moved 
out.  The  people  came,  the  saloons  increased, 
the  churches  departed. 

That  is  as  true  as  it  is  startling,  and  similar 
changes  can  be  duplicated  in  most  of  the  cities 
of  any  size  in  this  land.  But  that  midnight  is 
destined  to  be  scattered,  and  already  the  forces 
of  light  are  at  work — forces  of  knowledge  and 
co-operation,  and  determination  and  consecra- 


244        MIDXIGH T  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

tion,  until  in  this  hardest  of  all  places  the  great- 
est of  triumphs  are  yet  to  be  won.  At  this 
present  hour  there  can  be  seen  in  this  city  some 
of  the  most  sublime  sacrifices  ever  seen  on  the 
planet,  and  it  is  destined  to  tell  for  God's  glory. 
This  is  one  of  the  most  encouraging  features  of 
the  evangelization  problem.  Preachers  are  sac- 
rificing, and  missionaries  are  sacrificing,  and 
Christians  are  sacrificing,  and  Almighty  God  is 
bound  to  honor  it.  There  are  powerful  agencies 
for  good  at  work  in  the  darkest  centers. 

In  a  hidden  bay  on  the  St.  Lawrence,  in  the 
center  of  water-grass  and  stagnancy  and  im- 
purity, I  saw  hundreds  of  water  lilies  push  their 
white  faces  to  the  surface  and  seemingly  de- 
light in  shedding  their  fragrance  and  beauty 
upon  those  lowly  and  exceedingly  unattractive 
surroundings.  They  were  unseen  except  by  the 
eyes  that  looked  for  them.  Their  snowy  white- 
ness must  have  fallen  from  heaven,  that  place  of 
purity,  and  their  golden  crowns  must  have  been 
the  gift  of  the  king  of  day.  I  attempted  to 
take  them  from  their  place  of  deepest  humility 
and  apparent  waste,  and  to  place  them  in  the 
center  of  the  beautiful  parlor  and  upon  the  gar- 
ments of  appreciation.    They  all  seemed  to  draw 


THE  MORNING  BREAKETH.  245 

back  as  the  boat  drew  near.  And  when  I  asked 
them  to  come  they  seemed  to  say,  emphatically, 
"  No,  no !  "  A  few  were  forced  to  leave  their 
swampy  home,  but  they  shed  tears  of  regret  and 
speedily  wilted  in  their  sorrow.  That  waxen 
beauty  and  heavenly  fragrance  delighted  in  giv- 
ing its  life  to  enhance  and  beautify  the  lowest. 
It  must  have  been  transplanted  from  the  Gardens 
of  God.  The  flower  of  Christian  love  is  what  I 
have  seen  in  the  slums  of  the  city,  and  its  fra- 
grance destroys  malaria  and  reveals  the  beauty 
of  the  "  Lily  of  the  Valley." 

There  is  evil,  but  side  by  side  with  it  is  Calvary 
Christianity.  I  do  not  forget  that  the  larger  part 
of  city  population  is  outside  of  the  Church;  that 
in  New  York  and  Brooklyn,  and  other  great 
centers,  hundreds  of  thousands  (and  now  almost 
reaching  the  millions)  do  not  cross  the  threshold 
of  the  Church  of  Christ.  It  is  as  astounding  as 
it  is  true.  The  reports  reveal  that  seventy-five 
per  cent,  of  the  young  men  never  attend  church, 
and  only  fifteen  per  cent,  are  regular  in  attend- 
ance. 

Out  of  22,000  young  men  of  Cincinnati,  less 
than  2000  have  their  names  on  the  church  roll; 
less  than  ten  per  cent,  in  Brooklyn,  and  out  of 


246        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

91,000  young  men  in  Boston  there  are  over 
80,000  who  do  not  attend  the  house  of  God  at  all. 
New  York  and  Chicago  statistics  are  even  more 
startling. 

The  workingmen  are  estranged  from  the 
Church.  Some  of  our  city  churches  have  not  a 
single  man  with  calloused  hands  among  their 
hundreds.  Most  of  the  churches  have  very  few. 
I  know  of  at  least  one  church,  and  that  down 
town,  which  has  been  for  thirty  years  without 
any.  The  Carpenter  of  Nazareth  himself  has 
been  shut  out.  There  is  in  other  so-called 
Christian  churches  a  heathenish  formality,  with 
no  marks  of  the  Cross  upon  it  except  on  the 
steeple  and  altar.  I  have  seen  a  Chinese  joss 
house  on  one  side  of  the  street  and  a  Christian 
church  on  the  other  side  of  the  street  and  wit- 
nessed the  worship  in  both,  and  there  was  no  dis- 
tinction whatever — image  and  incense,  and  altar 
and  ceremony  precisely  the  same,  and  yet  right 
by  the  side  of  these  two  heathen  temples  stood  a 
Christian  mission  into  which  the  poorest  and 
the  most  sinful  were  flocking  and  being  redeemed 
by  the  touch  of  the  loving  hand  of  Christ.  I 
would  not  be  blind  to  the  facts.  Through  all 
this  midnight  gloom,  I  would  not  hold  my  hands 


THE  MORNING  BREAKETH.  247 

over  my  eyes  and  refuse  to  see  the  rays  of  morn- 
ing light. 

There  are  difficulties:  there  is  materialism  do- 
ing its  poisoning  work  in  Church  and  society; 
there  is  a  realism  in  one  line  of  the  popular  litera- 
ture, and  impurity  in  the  next  line,  and  serpen- 
tine marks  of  unbelief  between  the  lines;  there  is 
a  tendency  to  degrade  much  of  the  amusement  of 
the  world  to  the  level  of  the  pit  of  the  abyss ;  there 
is  unbounded  poverty  and  even  starvation  in  the 
very  center  of  plenty;  there  is  the  herding  of 
humankind  like  animals  in  fever-ridden  and 
death-ruled  quarters;  there  is  anarchy  seen  in  a 
thousand  forms  of  lawlessness;  there  is  selfish- 
ness supreme;  there  are  crime  and  suffering 
unbounded;  there  are  well-grounded  charges 
against  the  Church  of  Jesus  Christ.  "  The 
growth  of  wealth  and  of  luxury,  wicked,  waste- 
ful, and  wanton,  as  before  God  I  declare  that 
luxury  to  be,  has  been  matched  step  by  step  by 
a  deepening  and  deadening  poverty,  which  has 
left  whole  neighborhoods  of  people  practically 
without  hope  and  without  aspiration.  At  such 
a  time,  for  the  Church  of  God  to  sit  still  and  be 
content  with  theories  of  its  duty  outlawed  by 
time,  and  long  ago  demonstrated  to  be  gro- 


248        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

tesquely  inadequate  to  the  demands  of  a  living 
situation,  this  is  to  deserve  the  scorn  of  men  and 
the  curse  of  God.  Take  my  word  for  it,  men  and 
brethren,  unless  you  and  I  and  all  those  who 
have  any  gift  or  stewardship  of  talents,  or  means, 
of  whatever  sort,  are  willing  to  get  up  out  of 
our  sloth  and  ease  and  selfish  dilettanteism  of 
service,  and  get  down  among  the  people  who  are 
battling  amid  their  poverty  and  ignorance — 
young  girls  for  their  chastity,  young  men  for 
their  better  ideal  of  righteousness,  old  and  young 
alike  for  one  clear  ray  of  the  immortal  courage 
and  the  immortal  hope — then  verily  the  Church 
in  its  stately  splendor,  its  apostolic  orders,  its 
venerable  ritual,  its  decorous  and  dignified  con- 
vention, is  revealed  as  simply  a  monstrous  and 
insolent  impertinence." 

Yet  notwithstanding  all  that  has  been  said, 
that  blood-bought  Church  is  destined  to  triumph 
in  these  very  centers  of  iniquity.  The  standard 
of  the  Cross  shall  never  fall  from  the  fortifica- 
tions of  Calvary.  The  spirit  of  God  is  upon  the 
earth  and  he  is  not  neglecting  the  city.  His 
mighty  power  can  answer  the  prayer  of  the 
faithful,  "  Thy  kingdom  come."  The  human 
would  fail,  miserably  fail;  the  Divine  cannot  fail. 


THE  MORNING  BREAK ETH.  249 

If  Christ  is  on  Golgotha,  He  will  be  alive  in 
Joseph's  garden.  "He  is  risen!"  sounds 
through  the  slums  and  the  sin  of  the  great  city. 
I  reveal  all  the  enemies  and  in  plain  view  of  theii 
astonishing  number  and  mighty  power  I  shout, 
"Hallelujah!  hallelujah!  the  Lord  God  omnip- 
otent reigneth."  And  then  I  shout  to  the 
Christian  hosts,  "  Come  on,  come  on;  bring  up 
the  crimson  banner!" 

The  irreligion  of  the  city  is  not  to  conquer; 
the  vices  of  the  city  will  reach  their  limit,  and  I 
verily  believe  they  are  now  reaching  it.  The 
social  evils  are  many,  but  the  counteracting 
forces  are  coming  in.  The  selfishness  and  in- 
humanity of  the  commercial  world  are  receiving 
death-dealing  blows  from  pulpit  and  press  and 
periodical.  The  unchristian  and  unjust  princi- 
ples in  the  world  of  capital  and  labor  do  not  re- 
ceive the  applause  they  once  did.  The  "  Gold 
God  "  is  worshiped,  but  the  worshipers  are  not 
being  worshiped  in  these  last  days  as  formerly. 
The  stupendous  evils  and  almost  overwhelming 
abominations  of  the  city  are  claiming  the  at- 
tention of  Christian  and  patriot  alike.  But  jus- 
tice and  humanity  and  Christianity — these  three, 
but  the  greatest  of  these  is  Christianity — are 


250        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

demanding  the  attention  now  of  every  lover  of 
his  fellow-man. 

That  was  a  sublime  thing  said  by  Henry  Clay, 
while  crossing  the  Allegheny  mountains.  He 
was  waiting  for  the  stage-horses  to  get  rested, 
as  he  stood  on  a  rock,  with  arms  folded,  looking 
off  into  the  valley.  Someone  said  to  him,  "  Mr. 
Clay,  what  are  you  thinking  about?"  He  re- 
plied, "  I  am  listening  to  the  on-coming  tramp  of 
the  future  generation  of  America." 

I  stand  now  writh  eyes  toward  the  eastern  sky, 
and  from  the  mountain-tops  of  faith  I  listen  for 
the  on-coming  tramp  of  the  future  Church  of 
Christ.  As  hard  as  the  fight  may  seem  to  be 
in  these  cities,  it  is  sure  to  conquer.  The  arch- 
angel and  all  the  hosts  of  heaven  are  its 
Bliicher.  The  re-enforcements  are  coming. 
The  glistening  of  their  bayonets  is  flashing  along 
the  hills,  and  this  Waterloo  of  the  Church  of  God 
is  won.  "  The  morning  breaketh,"  and  the  white 
horse  and  his  Rider  are  waiting  to  lead  on  the 
triumphal  march  down  the  skies.  I  stood  on  the 
shores  of  Silver  Lake  and  watched  the  storm 
forces  drawing  up  in  battle  array  along  the 
western  horizon.  The  artillery  of  heaven  was 
rapidly  stationed  on  the  batteries  of  the  hills. 


THE  MORNING  BREAKETH.  251 

The  entire  couch  of  the  sun  was  covered  with  a 
drapery  of  midnight  blackness,  and  the  giant 
cloud  form  grumbled  beneath  his  burdens  of 
thunder  and  became  wrathful  with  his  thou- 
sand tongues  of  lightning.  Every  tree  was 
bowing  its  head  in  fear,  and  the  flowers 
and  grass  were  falling  into  each  other's  arms 
for  shelter.  The  winds  sent  out  their  mes- 
senger breezes  to  tell  of  the  coming  cyclone, 
and  the  rain  sent  out  its  messenger  drops  to 
tell  of  the  breaking  up  of  the  fountains  of 
heaven.  Man  and  beast  watched  the  robing  of 
the  brightest  day  in  the  black  garments  of  the 
night.  The  watching  leaped  into  anxiety  and 
the  anxiety  bounded  into  fear  as  the  feet  of  the 
cloud  army  touched  the  shore  of  the  quiet  lake, 
and  their  huge  arms  lashed  the  ripples  into 
waves,  and  the  waves  into  billows,  and  the  billows 
into  a  raging  sea  of  foaming  madness.  At  last 
the  enemy  had  completely  surrounded  the  lake 
and  captured  its  prisoner,  and  we  saw  it  no  more. 
In  the  merciful  shelter  we  listened  tremblingly  to 
the  tremendous  roar  of  the  furious  thunder  and 
hid  our  eyes  from  the  lurid  flashes  of  the  light- 
ning, until  all  the  electric  currents  seemed  to 
concentrate  at  one  point  in  a  most  destructive, 


252        MIDNIGHT  IN  A  GREAT  CITY. 

shocking  crash.  How  could  there  ever  be  quiet 
again?  How  could  flowers  ever  live  in  such  a 
storm?  How  could  the  birds  cling  to  their  tree- 
nests  in  such  a  moment?  How  could  man  ever 
feel  safe  again  in  such  a  world?  But  the  larger 
hand  had  scarcely  moved  around  the  dial  when 
angel  hands  flung  out  the  banners  of  sapphire 
glory  in  the  sky,  and  the  birds  sang  in  their  glee, 
and  the  flowers  delighted  to  throw  out  hand- 
fuls  of  fresh  fragrance  to  every  passer-by;  the 
lake  lay  in  the  arms  of  the  hills  as  peaceful  as  a 
babe  on  its  mother's  bosom;  the  single  boat 
moved  as  two  across  its  mirrowed  smoothness; 
and  at  the  shore  of  earth's  Silver  Lake  we 
thought  we  sat  in  the  Gardens  of  God  at  the  shore 
of  the  Silver  River.  When  the  storms  of  sin  and 
wrong  have  done  their  worst,  at  the  close  of  day, 
earth  will  be  changed  into  heaven,  and  that  sun- 
set will  be  the  dawning  of  an  Eternal  Morning. 


THE  END. 


